


Hangin’ Around

by Cultivation



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accents, Acephobia, Affection, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Awkward Conversations, Ben Solo is Trying, Bisexual Finn (Star Wars), Coming Out, Coming of Age, Country & Western, Demisexual Ben Solo, Demisexuality, Drabble, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Issues, First Dates, Friendship/Love, Gay Poe Dameron, High School, Hot Weather, Hurt/Comfort, Kansas, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Makeup, Mentioned Paige Tico, Mentioned Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Midwest, Minor Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Musical References, No Smut, Rey is a Palpatine (Star Wars), Romance, Romantic Friendship, School Dances, Soft Ben Solo, Some Humor, Summer, Summer Love, Summer Romance, Swearing, Sweet, Teen Romance, The Author Regrets Nothing, ngl this is a love letter to the midwest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cultivation/pseuds/Cultivation
Summary: Enraptured, Ben Solo takes to the new girl at school.Kansas summer has never seemed so sweet.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. Sunday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palpatwink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palpatwink/gifts).



> My first ever Reylo fic... a long time in the making. But in all honesty, this was inevitable. 
> 
> I want to dedicate this to my dear friend, Palpatwink. (Yes, that username is an inside joke.) 
> 
> They are so very important to me and, this Christmas, I wanted to give them something more personal and priceless, both literally and figuratively. Perhaps in this fic, I could offer what I can't in reality: a summer and a prom lost to COVID. A Kansas fever dream you never got to live within the confines of Reylo, the ship that we bonded over in the early stages of knowing each other. A love letter to our friendship and our town, a hopeful response to the hopelessness I know we both felt during the height of the pandemic, and a gift with a little more nuance than a Kylo Ren Pop Figure. (We both know I am far from subtle.) You are one of the most passionate, caring, insightful, beautiful, and important people I know and I am glad that you came into my life. It's hard to think where I'd be without your unconditional love and unrelenting support. I imagine it wouldn't be a very good place. I can only hope that I inspire you the same way you inspire me. I love you and I may sadistically hope this makes you cry, if only for you to know how true that is. 
> 
> Claim your gift! After all, I know you despise lurking surprises.

Tapping his pencil to the paper, his attention cannot linger on Trigonometry homework. The numbers fuse together and the formulas lose their satisfaction speedily. Ben sighs, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it slightly. The dining table is round and polished but old and filthy too. In the divots of the wood, gunk is stored, and on the surface beneath where the house plant— a sour-looking succulent— a layer of dust and dirt rings the pot against the chipped white paint. 

Framed photographs of himself at various ages hang all around the dining room. He doesn’t particularly like to look at them; all he can see, besides his maturing face, is the noticeable drop of his smile. If he’s feeling terribly low, Ben will recognize the disappearance of his father and Chewie in the sparse photos of all four of them together. Leia always chastises him when he points it out to her. 

_“Ya look fine, son. See? Looky there! Big smile.”_

Hesitant to talk or do much of anything at all, Ben listens in on the phone call. His mother’s voice, laced with her bad habit of smoking,— she always excuses it as a weight loss agent and coughs off any criticism— is brisker when she talks with Han. He brings out the tone in her, as well as an irritating on-edge mood that (more often than not) persists through the rest of the week.

“Why do ya care anyway? Ya never visit ‘em and he’s _your_ son, ya know?” Leia spits back. He bites down on his tongue, pushing away from the table, and stands. His shirt sticks to his back with a light sweat. The summer heat seeps throughout the house and, despite his protests, his mother refused to use the air conditioning unit. To her, it was an excuse to pay extra bills when she could be using something else for free. Feeling stuffy and tempered, Ben bends back the locked latch and lifts up the window.

He wishes for a breeze or a shower. Anything but this. The thickly humid air braces him with little mercy and gives him next to no relief. Ben quietly curses as his mother hangs up the home phone. He knows exactly what she’ll say to him when she strolls beside him. Leia will tell him to go outside, buy something cool at the Quik-Trip, and come back home to rest away the brain freeze. He reaches into his short’s pocket for his wallet and fishes it out idly. Inside, he counts around seven dollars, two quarters, and three dimes. It’s enough for a pop and maybe something else on the side if he’s careful.

Ben ventures into the living room to retrieve his baseball cap. The wood floors creak beneath his feet. It’s a point of interest which side of the family gave him the tall genes. He himself doesn’t really care enough to offer out an opinion; he wishes he didn’t always tower over everyone in town. It made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the other guys his age. Girls tended to talk to him though; that wasn’t exactly his problem. He may have had an uneven face and a terrible penchant for frowning when he’s supposed to be smiling or— _God forbid_ — enjoying himself, but none of those things kept him further from a woman than his pure disinterest. 

He finds the Royals cap on the blotched sofa. As he leans forward to pick it up, the rug beneath his feet sparsely holds dust, fuzz, crumbs, and dog hair. Whenever anyone came over, Ben wondered whether they were biting their breath to get out. Armie Hux certainly did. He barely refrained from texting his father (who he hated— the few mutual things they bonded over) to come get him to leave early. Eventually Ben stopped asking and Armie never asked again. 

If they ever did meet up after school for projects or just to hang out, they’d go to his place instead. A mansion in comparison to his mom’s house, Hux’s house was the true American dream. His dad owned an oil rig and his mother— a prissy ginger woman who covered up her freckles with mismatching foundation— came from money. Hux’s father, Brendol, bought Mercedes Benzs and, in the summers, would host extravagant birthday bashes for himself and Armie. Ben never failed to feel out of place in his house.

To say the least, they hadn’t talked in some time.

It started, as most dramas did, with a rumor. Ben hadn’t said a thing, but Hux knew about it regardless. Hollers in the halls and whispers in the library weren’t for nothing. It was a matter of time before he burst at the seams and wanted to know what the hell the buzz was about. Evidently, the delivery of said message didn’t come from Ben but rather in the form of a drunken Sherry Phasma on the basketball court. Brendol had been seen in town with another woman at the strip joint, Baby Dolls— a freckle-less, auburn-haired lady whom Armie resembled a disturbing degree. His peers were quick to the draw with the similarities. 

Ever since— _to clean his image_ , Ben thinks— Hux has been distant. It wasn’t that he gained much from their conversation or that he had lost a friend; they weren’t exactly buddy-buddy to begin with. It was a decision to speak to one another habitually out of sheer isolation, common motive, and Kansas heat. Ben wasn’t inclined to push further with him. He knew Hux was vapid and hot-headed and he didn’t want to end up like him— a reflection of the father he claimed to despise.

The cap fits snug against Ben’s thick head of hair and is sure to warp it funny by the time he gets back. A bad case of hat-hair would be a problem for tomorrow morning. He shuffles to the door, slips on his slides, and sneaks out before his mother can come to find out what he’s been up to. Outside, the humid air greets him in an unpleasant wash. On the horizon, heatwaves wiggle intimidatingly. He has half a mind to go back inside and make himself an ice bath. _Christ, this is a waste of ice, Ben_ , he imagines in Leia’s gravelly voice. _What’re ya thinkin’?_

“Nothin’,” he mumbles mirthlessly. His feet are moving before he holds to the decision. He’s sure to get blisters with these slides, no socks, and a sweat growing on him. Yet, he cannot seem to give a damn about it. Another tomorrow problem for sure. Ben sighs as he reaches the end of the block, passing identical little houses (varying only in color and accents). He rounds the corner and walks a couple more blocks until the Quik-Trip comes into sight. Surrounding it sits a pawn shop and a Spangles. He can smell powdered sugar and hot grease wafting from passing customers. He’s sure they’re freshmen judging by the loud way they laugh and the stupid carefree way they strut.

Ben crosses the street before the light tells him to. 

He pulls open the Quik-Trip door and slips his tall body through and into the blissfully cool conditioned environment. He doesn’t bother looking down for sweat stains. It makes his shirt stick to his skin awkwardly at the middles of his chest and back and his armpits. Next to the cash register was what he came here for. The sliding glass freezer stored the rocket popsicles, a childish food he still found nostalgia and enjoyment in. It was one of the few things he remembers fondly about his father. He picks one out and slides the glass back into place with a satisfying _swoop_.

Ben can feel the eyes on him before he sees them.

Standing across from him, a girl he doesn’t recognize stares at him through a pair of circle-rim sunglasses. Her brunette hair is tied up in a messy bun and her eyes— tinted by the yellow shades— don’t falter when he meets them. She stills a little, thin body rigid for a few seconds, before returning her gaze to the stacks of fruity, refrigerated teas. A small smile plays across her face, shockingly pale for the encroaching summer sun. 

Ben can’t quite pinpoint what it is about her (other than her sense of fucking fashion) that tips him off. It could be how her build is different from Chandrila girls. Her hips are slim and her face isn’t painted with any makeup. Her jeans and long sleeves were evident of either a “beauty is pain” philosophy or complete and total ignorance. He rather thinks it’s _not_ the former. Whoever she is, Ben can tell she doesn’t belong... and that is a good thing. If he were a romantic, he might say she radiated years beyond this stupid town.

But, Ben Solo is far from romantic.

He awkwardly lingers his gaze on her, unsure what else to do. _Am I— am I supposed to look away?_ Quite quickly, he comes to the conclusion that yes, he _is_ supposed to look away when she picks out a twenty-three ounce can of Georgia Peach Peace Tea and strides to the register. At the counter, Rose Tico (a sophomore known most by her job here and her odd jobs fixing computers on the side) checks her out. Some words Ben can’t discern are exchanged: a few curious faces out of Tico and some exasperated but jovial tones from the new girl. Money is handed out, change is counted, and a few dimes and pennies are dropped in her hand. Rose smiles as the girl leaves with the tea and a bag of stroopwafels. 

Chewing his cheek, he watches her step outside onto the cement pavement and towards a familiar car in the parking lot. Ben knows that car— a crappy white Pontiac Grand Am— to be Maz’s, a close friend of his mother and father. She backs out of the stall and drives smoothly out of the gas station. Maz is known for her foster work and adopting kids off the streets. Notably, she helped out Finn (who seemed to hold a grudge against Ben for no other reason than being the son of the man who had conned him out of a good night of getting high with his buddies) and got him from failing core classes to acing AP exams without thinking.

Swallowing hard, Ben walks to the register and feels the cool atmosphere starting to chill the dried sweat.

“Hey, Ben,” Rose greets civilly. 

“Hey, Rose.” His eyes remain on the empty parking stall, neck craned just to stare at where she used to be. “Did ya catch ‘er name by chance?” 

“Yeah, name’s Rey. You really still want that?” Ben looks back to see the rocket pop melting inside the plastic. He licks his lips and nods, running a hand down his face and smirking, embarrassed. Rose, amused, smiles faintly.

“I’m— I’m sorry. I’ll pay for this one too.” He reaches over to the sliding glass and plucks another solid popsicle. Extending open the wallet, his fingers fish for the dollars and coins. Rose watches for a few quiet moments.

“Nah, you’re good. Happens to the best of us. Nobody buys ‘em anyway.” Ben raises an eyebrow.

“Are ya sure? I don’t wanna get ya in trouble,” he says. If his mom were with him, she wouldn’t bother with that question. Her voice echoes in his head even still, reminding Ben that _ya should always take what’s given ‘cause they might not be so kind the second time_. 

“Yeah, you’re good. Besides” — she watches as the door swings open and Armie Hux waltzes in — “Finn shouldn’t rag on you all the time.” She looks back to Ben and her lips thin. “Take this as a peace offering on my behalf, yeah?” Ben nods politely and hands her the allotted money for the solid rocket pop. She parts back a few strands of fringing hair from her eyes and discards the melted pop into a trash can behind the counter.

“Thanks, Rose.” Her dark eyes follow Hux; he passes behind them and into the snack aisle.

“No problem, Ben.” He pockets the change she dispenses in his hand, takes the popsicle, and reluctantly enters back into the heat. It hits him in a rush, reigniting the restlessness that brought him in the first place. Ben rips open the plastic wrapper and throws it into the trash bin. He uses his molars to take the first bite, tasting the cool cherry flavor spread across his tongue and numb the roof of his mouth. As he walks back home he licks away the red, white, and blue drips that threaten to make his fingers sticky. His lips are flushed by the time he reaches the house. 

Cicadas chirp in waves as the sun slowly lowers in the sky. A pleasant, painterly blend of colors marks the sky in a gradient of orange, pink, and purple. Gray splotches of cloud remain still. If he stays out here and never comes inside, he might just feel the cool he’s been waiting for all day. Ultimately, he decides against it, reminded of the last time he spent the night sitting on the porch swing. A bad case of motion sickness and mosquito bites were enough to force him inside. Ben closes the front door, the screen door slapping rather loudly behind him. He flinches at the noise as he kicks off his slides. The blare of the television that assaults his senses is just a little too loud to be comforting. His mother greets him from the living room.

“Hey, sweetheart. Where’d ya go to, Ben?” she asks. He enters the kitchen, steps down, and throws the popsicle stick into the brimming trash. “Hey, if you're in there, I need ya to take out the trash.” He huffs a sigh, reaching forward and drawing the red string of the trash bag in his hands. “Hey, did ya hear me?” He refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah— I got it, Mom.” Pulling up, the bag slips from the can and into his grip. He flicks on the light and presses the button to open the garage door. The rolling metal is a temporary solace as dusk settles. The sun is replaced with a rising moon, half-crescent and dusted with clouds. The gradient of color has fallen to just one deep blue hue. Opening the trash bin, a fly buzzes free from the wafting unpleasant smell. Ben doesn't doddle; dropping the trash bag inside, he allows the lid to slam shut. 

The cool, smooth garage floor becomes rough driveway concrete. It’s a modest temperature compared to the heat it emanated midday and, for that, Ben is grateful. The only thing worse about dragging out the trash and recycling bins is having to rush it because it feels like stepping on hot coals. He drags the first bin before he notices Maz’s house down the street. Inside, warm light impedes through the windows. The garage door is open and the light is on, bouncing off familiar figures. Poe— Finn’s friend (some say more than friends), a loyalist to the core, and a bit of dick— is bringing in groceries from the back of their minivan. Finn is talking animatedly with Maz about _something_ and she looks appeased, impressed even. 

Then, out in the driveway, Ben meets her gaze again.

The new girl— _Rey... Rose told me_ , he thinks— stands idly. She traverses down to the mailbox, looking at the identical houses lined down the block. Ben retrieves the next bin and drags it as loudly as he can. Much to his surprise, it works and the girl— _Rey, ‘er name is Rey_ — pins him in place. Her feet aren’t bare like his; just like before, she quietly distances herself from Midwestern standard by wearing socks and sneakers. But her look lingers on him in a way that feels like genuine curiosity. It’s not like the girls at school who hoot and ogle at his broad chest and above-average Chandrila height. She offers him a smile to go alongside it and it feels friendly, bright, and comforting. When she lifts her hand to wave shyly, he’s stricken with a nasty blush. 

Ben may not be a romantic, but he knows how to wave. 

By the time he raises his hand, Rey has been called for and follows Maz and Finn into the light of the garage and disappears behind the shutting garage door. Suddenly, Ben can feel the pavement against his feet grow colder with her absence. _A ray of sunshine_ , he thinks with a smile. A wind picks up near the sidewalk, rustling the small trees. He can feel his hair rustle with it, too. Crickets join the cicadas in a symphony of sound as he ambles back to the garage, shuts it behind him, and flicks off the light. The moment the door closes, Leia calls for him.

“What took ya so long?” He saunters from the kitchen to the living room, flicking off light fixtures as he does.

“Did Maz take in somebody new?” asks Ben. His body hits the blotchy couch next to his mother. Leia’s eyes remain on the television.

“Yeah, I think so. Speaking of which” — she pulls the glass bowl of buttered popcorn closer to her chest and flickers her gaze to him — “we’re going to go and have dinner with them on Tuesday.” Ben runs a hand through his hair and produces a hefty sigh.

“Fuck me—” Her gaze turns sour.

“Hey— stop swearing and suck it up. I know you and Finn don’t get along but look at the bright side. Maybe you can make friends with the new kid.” He doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he grabs a handful of popcorn from her bowl and eats it in one mouthful. Leia continues watching sitcom reruns from her childhood on MeTV. Ben swings his legs to drape over the arm of the couch and rests his head in her lap. She moves the bowl of popcorn and uses unbuttered fingers to play with his hair. He watches until his eyes flutter shut and his mind dreams of heated sun, picturesque skies, and a girl waving.

Ben won’t remember it when he wakes up.


	2. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben connects with the girl from the Quik-Trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter. 
> 
> Forgot to do this on the first chapter but a gracious thank you to [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty) for pulling through once again to beta this entire fic.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Monday’s are a struggle for him. He’ll awake four or five times before he’s able to keep his eyes open instead of hitting snooze on his phone’s many alarms. The brutal process lasts for a few hours before school starts. Despite it, Ben is rarely ever late. It’s only when Leia’s off to work early that he ever misses the bus. Today, thankfully, isn’t one of those days. His body rises and he emerges from the blankets and sheets. Ben sits for a few moments on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and stretching his legs. He wiggles his toes and looks around the room idly.

It’s barren and boring, exempt from things of interest or really anything that marks interests at all; he has no posters on the walls, lights strung up, flags hung, or even curtains. His room contains the bare minimum of what it should have. There’s a chestnut dresser, a hollow closet, a bed with no head frame, and a bedside table with a creaking leg. 

Inside the drawer of the table, he stores his wallet and various chargers. If he pulls out the drawer entirely— if he’s _lucky_ — he might find some age-old, inedible Hubba Bubba. Ben just hasn’t had the courage or motivation to ask his mom for anything special. He can’t stand the thought of bothering her with it or the possible response she would give. _What would I even ask for? A fuckin’ bookshelf?_

He rises to his feet and grabs his phone on the table. Pulling out the cord haphazardly, Ben checks the time. _Seven-twenty-five_ , he thinks. He has enough time for a quick rinse before the bus arrives. His hands pull open the dresser and grasp a worn, tight-fitting shirt. _Shit._ The rest of the drawer is empty. This is his last clean shirt and he certainly doesn’t have time to waste doing the laundry now.

Sighing deeply— from the pits of his soul, _truly_ — Ben accepts his fate and grabs a pair of sweatpants to compensate. While showering, he pictures the looks he’ll receive in his head. The vapidness, the ignorance, and the narrowness of Kansan sexual perspectives on full display. Quietly, he wonders how Rey— _yeah, that’s ‘er name_ — will do amongst them. The thought brings him some humor with his discomfort.

He towels off and brushes his teeth in quick succession. Slipping on the shirt feels like a defeat. Ben stares at himself in the mirror. The fabric sticks to his skin just as expected, highlighting his chest and muscles. A working irritation builds up at the sight of himself; he escapes the reflection and heads downstairs. His backpack rests against his slides. He chews his cheek, forgoing socks once again. If he didn’t already have blisters this morning, he’d surely get them by the end of the day.

Ben pulls on one strap over his shoulder and allows the other one to dangle. In the kitchen, he can smell eggs and sausage cooking on the stove. He knows if he eats any, he’ll be late. It’s yet another sacrifice to go without breakfast, made in the fleeting hope he doesn’t miss the bus. In his heart, he knows he wouldn’t. But, his paranoia gets the best of him and leads him out of the house without a goodbye.

Birds sing, chirp, and cry in the trees. The sky is still too early to be pretty, a bleak gray mixture of color overtaking everything else. The sun barely shows itself behind thick layers of cloud cover. Ben makes his way to the stop, relatively far out from the block. The route of the sidewalk, which he has walked to and from so many times, is familiar to him. It’s hard to say whether he finds it tiresome anymore; it’s all he knows. 

Across the street, he sees her. She wears a little more Kansan summer clothing: jeans shorts with the pockets peeking, weather-worn Doc Martins, a flannel tied at her hips, and a graphic shirt he can’t discern from afar. Rey, arms crossed, searches around for a sign. Amused, he wants to call out to her. _Oh god, then she’ll hate me_ runs through his mind first. _No one is helpin’ ‘er though._

His next course of action goes surprisingly well, all things considered.

Ben pulls out his phone and a pair of earbuds from his sweatpants. He plugs them in, quickly settling on a song. As he strolls down the sidewalk— albeit, slower than he usually does— he starts to whistle along to the tune of a song his mother played for him as a kid. Instantly, Rey turns her head to the noise. Ben pockets his phone and continues walking; he watches her follow him out of the corner of his eye. 

She seems relieved and she wears it on her face freely. A small smile, bright and cheery— sunny, even— overtakes her. By the time Ben rounds the corner, she has too. Rey crosses the street to join him. She trails behind ever so slightly, watching his back. He doesn’t turn to her. The music swells a sweet tune that hums in his ears. The gesture alone is enough for him. They can talk later. Perhaps even laugh about it, too. 

Ben hopes, anyway.

He comes to a stop in front of the Tico house. Rose stopped taking the bus halfway through freshman year when her older sister got a car. They rode together to school and, most times, it was just him alone at the stop. Poe and Finn rode bikes together so he never saw them either. Briefly, he wonders why she didn’t just go with them. Maz had a third bike and she was far from the type to keep things off-limits (even if she did consider them hers). 

Then, it crosses his mind that maybe she didn’t know how to ride a bike. He didn’t either. His mom was always too busy to teach him and his father found no use for them when he could, quote on quote _use the falcon._ A memory of Ben sitting in the front passenger seat for the first time (against his mother’s orders) enters his mind unbidden. Suddenly, the music doesn’t sound as sweet.

Rey stands beside him idly. She shifts her weight between her legs. Her eyes remain trained on her sneakers. The smile is fainter but still there. Ben pulls out his phone and checks the time. _Seven-forty_. He’s making perfect time. Then, against his will, his stomach rumbles. It’s enough to kill him with embarrassment right then and there. His mind races. _Did she hear that? Oh god, she must’ve heard—_

“Hey.” Ben pulls out an earbud, face surely redder than a bell pepper. Rey is looking right at him— directly at him, in his very eyes. It’s jarring to even keep her gaze. Closer, he can see the chapstick shine on her lips and the kind sway to her eyes. “Are you hungry?” she asks. Her voice has an accent to it— _she’s British?_

“How’d ya know?” He manages to keep the tremor out of his voice. She thins her lips and huffs out a laugh.

“Just a feeling,” Rey mutters. She pulls the sleeve of her messenger bag closer to her and rummages through it. A few seconds later, she reveals a bag of brown sugar Poptarts. “Here.” Her hand extends to him and, cautiously, he takes them. “It’s not a lot, but it’s something.” He nods, as if it is a reasonable thing for someone in his position to ask for more. He barely asks for anything at all, period. Ben pockets the foiled snacks.

“Thanks,” he rumbles.

“No problem…” Her gaze returns to the asphalt for a few moments, staring at the rusty street gutter intently. Then, as if a light went off inside her head, she looks back at Ben. “I’m Rey.”

“Hello, Rey,” he rasps. The awkwardness of his clenching throat seems unnoticeable. “I’m Ben.”

Just then, the sound of the fuming bus makes itself known. They both turn their eyes to it. Eventually, it comes to a full-stop and the entry doors slide back. Ben walks forward first and steps on. Familiar faces forgo greetings with silent eyes; it’s the only acknowledgment he has ever come to know while riding the bus. 

Rey steps on shortly after, a presence just behind him. He passes through the aisle, avoiding feet and discarded wrappers, and sits in the second to last seat. He takes off his backpack and places it between his calves. Ben always liked to sit up close to the window. The quickly-moving surroundings gave him steadying comfort. A calm to his unsettled nerves. 

His nerves won’t be calmed.

Rey passes through the aisle and seems fit to pick the seat across from him. Her eyes flicker between him and his sweatpants’ pocket. The bus doors close and the driver mutters some curse under his breath as he drives forward. Just to appease her, he pulls out the Poptarts and tears open the wrapper. The first bite is pure paste— no frosting or filling. He grimaces and takes a larger bite. Rey smiles at him, gradually adverting her gaze to the window beside her. Ben can’t help but find the gesture just as comforting as the blurred trees, houses, and Chandrila staples.

* * *

It’s between first and second hour when he realizes Rey probably has no clue about where to go. Her path is different from his— he suspects she’s a junior anyway— and it’d take a miracle for them to share a single class together. Ben won’t see her in the hallway and if he does pass her by, it’s unlikely she’d be inclined to look back. At this point, people gravitated towards one person or a group and never strayed from it. He’s grown used to following a different trek to everyone else; he’s never been inclined to one group over another. Ben drifts away from people and he’s likely never going to stop. 

The bell rings for second hour as he settles down in his American Literature class. He found reading to be an easy topic for his mind to revolve itself around. Ben doesn’t necessarily enjoy it abundantly, but it’s simple for him to understand and the work isn’t too much. The teacher, Mr. Tekka, talks nice to him because of his mother; that works just fine for him. 

Adjacent to him, he can hear the rumble of Poe Dameron’s husky laugh. He’s likely to loudly brag or complain tremendously and Ben hates both. Paige sits by her sister behind Poe while he sits beside Zorii Bliss, a girl whose last name stirred many peers to burst with laughter. At the very least, the one good thing he could say about Poe was his group of friends weren’t like Hux’s. The desk next to him is empty and is doomed to be. Some days, when he feels particularly lonely, it taunts him. Quickly, adverting his eyes from the desk, he pulls out a dull pencil. Tekka begins handing out quiz results silently.

His quiz gets passed to him. _Makin’ Mom proud_ , he thinks sarcastically. It doesn’t feel like an achievement, especially when Tekka smiles broadly in his direction. Somehow, he wishes he did do badly so he’d have something to work on. Instead, Ben sits restlessly in his chair and stares at the hundred and five percent score. Poe grimaces noticeably behind him and raises his hand up immediately. 

“Yes, Dameron?” Tekka asks absently. His focus remains on passing out the papers to the back of the room. 

“Sir, I read this back to front—”

“And you retained nothing.” The class erupts with scattered laughter and hushed whispers. Tekka lays down the last paper with a satisfied smugness. “Everyone in this class who read and thought about what they read would be able to answer simple questions. You did not.” Poe rolls his eyes and sighs.

“I don’t think I’m in the minority here,” he argues. “Let’s take a look at Rose’s—” Poe tries to take her paper but she snatches it back.

“Hey!” she exclaims.

“Do that again, Dameron, and I’ll send you to the office.” He glares at Tekka with quiet contempt but doesn’t say a thing further. “Now, class, hand your papers back up.” Ben is quick to give away his paper to the person in front of him. Jannah— a gifted sophomore with who he seems to share many classes— takes his paper and the papers Ben receives from the people directly behind him.

The door opens with a loud screech. Ben’s eyes snap to the presence of a latecomer. Rey turns to reveal herself, face flushed and exasperated. His eyes meet hers without another beat. She smiles and then looks to Tekka.

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t find the room.” Tekka smiles briefly at her, crow’s feet and age lines creasing.

“No worries. Navigating the hallways can be confusing. Take a seat anywhere you like.” Rey nods and looks around the class. Her eyes land on Ben and the empty desk beside him. He can barely breathe. _I jinxed myself_ , he thinks. Poe’s eyes follow with disgust as she picks her seat. Tekka’s attention turns to setting up his computer’s connection to the smartboard. Ben cannot seem to comprehend the situation.

“Hey,” Rey breathes, settling in. “ _Ben_.” He nods and smiles faintly, the corners of his lips rising against his wishes. _Why does she have to be so sunny_? 

“Hey,” he greets. “Rey…” 

“No way,” Poe whispers, just audible enough for them both to hear. “He _speaks_!” Rose makes some sort of face, seemingly displeased. Her passive indifference remains just that... passive. Rey’s attention doesn’t doddle for a moment on Poe. Her focus is on Tekka as the smartboard shows a dim screen of an audio recording. The light from the windows on the left half of the classroom filters through and makes it hard to see.

“Now that we’ve wrapped up _The Crucible_ , we’ll be finishing the year out with a short poem. It’s called _The Yellow Wallpaper_.” He raises up a textbook. “One person from each table please bring back textbooks for your partner.” Nervousness seeds through him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck—_ Rey doesn’t seem to care or notice.

“I’ll go get them,” she says. _That’s not what I’m worried about_ , he tells her with his eyes. Of course, Rey doesn’t hear his inner pleas. She scoots back her uncomfortable, wobbly chair (a small screech emanating amongst a sea of screeching chair legs) and stands to retrieve books from the rolling rack. The moment she leaves— just as expected— Poe leans forward. 

“Hey… Solo,” he speaks. “What’re you trying to pull with our newbie, huh?” Ben doesn’t say a word, feigning ignorance. Poe leans back in his chair and scoffs. Rey returns, placing the two textbooks down between the desks, as he continues. “It’s no fun when he doesn’t bite back.” Instantly, her face turns sour; she cranes her neck to face Poe.

“Do you ever shut up?” Rey asks, heated. He frowns at her. Ben keeps his lips tightly shut, hiding the shock behind the opening textbook. _Did she just defend me?_

“Depends who’s asking,” Poe retorts. 

“Quiet, Dameron,” Tekka snaps. “I will not tolerate you interrupting my class any further.” Rey turns back to face the teacher, anxious. “Now, the story should begin on page three-fifty-one. If you have trouble finding it, just raise your hand and I’ll come help you. We’ll be reading this short story today and tomorrow and we’ll convene on Wednesday in your pairs to discuss it and start a one-pager.” An audible groan is released openly from Poe.

“Just when I thought I was safe,” Poe mumbles to Zorii. “And he gives us _this_ shit.”

For the remainder of the class, Ben finds peace in the frantic words and unnerving story. Beside him, Rey does the same.

* * *

Lunch was a unique time for Ben. Unlike his fellow peers, he didn’t need to interact with someone during his break. He took great solace and anguish in the solitude of eating and listening to music. His earbuds are crappy and, oftentimes, he’s forced to buy new ones at the Quik-Trip because he yanks too hard on the cords. _Hardly my fault_ , he thinks. _They make ‘em to break ‘em._

He flips through a playlist while he takes his seat at an empty table near the water fountain and bathrooms. He doesn’t eat much at school, preferring to eat a large dinner when he gets home. On his tray are a lukewarm chicken sandwich, a cup of mixed fruit, a frozen strawberry-kiwi juice, and some dilapidated tri-taters. He consumes them all quickly and efficiently and settles on a more nostalgic playlist.

Leia used to listen to country and while Ben never exactly loved all her choices, he did end up enjoying Taylor Swift. By all means, it was a guilty type of listen— one he usually only indulged in in the privacy of his room. But, as he dumped the trash off his tray and stacked it with the others, he found himself feeling more spontaneous than normal. His thoughts drift to Rey and their shared second hour. 

She had defended him against Poe— who anyone else in her situation would have sided with (and justifiably too). It was the first time in _ages_ that someone had his back. The feeling is so foreign that he struggles to process if he even deserves it at all. His self-esteem might as well be dog shit— _real_ shit— but damned if he didn’t feel pleased when Rey snapped at Dameron. The memory plays in his head to the tune of acoustic and delicate vocals. He leaves the cafeteria and strides towards the library. It doesn’t take him long before he reaches the entrance and finds a seat on a wooden stool. 

Plexiglass windows are lined in a checkerboard pattern, looking out into the hallway, and Ben briefly wonders what it could possibly be for. He shuffles through songs until he lands on something extra sweet, a song his mother cooed him to sleep with as a kid. If he remembers correctly— and he decidedly doesn’t like to remember any about _him_ — his father despises this song. 

That fact alone makes him click up the volume. It blares out any and all other senses. Ben is careful not to play it too loudly lest the cheap earphones bleed over into the world around him. He loses himself briefly, entering a different plane of existence— where he never has to deal with the aftermath of his outbursts or the turmoil of his childhood. Here, he can focus on anything with ease and can cancel out any distractions.

Then, someone taps him on the shoulder.

It’s the shock of it that causes him to whip around and meet her gaze. With a handful of books held close to her chest, Rey greets him with a hesitant smile. He pulls out an earbud, relieved. It would have induced a heart attack if it were anyone else.

“Hey…” she starts. “This is stupid,— I know— but do you know how to check out? I can’t seem to find where to do it myself and you’re the only person in here I know.” Her anxious energy is of a very relatable kind. Ben doesn’t mind taking the opportunity to befriend her— _and this is exactly the kind of thing that leads to that, right?_

Even if he isn’t too good with speaking to people, he happens to know the librarian, Miss Holdo quite well. His mom had fought beside her in the Marines before he was born. She’s a tough lady but frail, dyeing her hair every other month to keep the grays from lining her roots permanently. Ben smiles back at Rey and stands, pocketing his phone. The music still vibrates briefly in his sweatpants.

“I’ll take ya to _‘_ er. We got one lady who checks out everybody’s books.” She gives him a quizzical look.

“That doesn’t seem very efficient,” Rey remarks quietly. “What if there is a line of people?”

“There never is. Nobody comes in _‘_ ere ‘cept teachers and hermits—” Rey looks up at him briefly, almost self-conscious. _Ah shit,_ he thinks. _What did I just say?_ “Sorry,” he blunders. “I didn’t mean it like that… I just have trouble— uh— makin’ conversation.”

“You didn’t say anything to be sorry for, Ben.” Rey clutches tighter at her books, more confident. “Besides, you’ve been much nicer than most of the people I’ve met today…”

“Really?” Rey nods and licks her lips. They approach the main counter where Holdo’s rectangular glasses droop towards the ball of her nose as she types on a clunky, chunky keyboard. Her eyes flicker first from Rey to Ben then settle firmly on Ben. She presses her glasses closer to her face.

“‘Ello, Ben! What shall it be?” Holdo greets.

“Just helping out Rey here. She’s new. Wants to check out some books.” Holdo’s gaze flickers back to Rey. A smile spreads across her face, just a little too sweet. 

“No sweat, honey,” she says. “What’s yer student ID?”

“They haven’t given me one yet.” Holdo hums, quirking her lips in a circular motion.

“Full name then?” She seems to pale and drags her teeth on her bottom lip. 

“Rey Palpatine.” Holdo’s fingers type in a fast _click-clacking_. Her eyes scan the monitor hidden behind the desk. 

“Alright, I gotcha. Ya can hand over yer books now.” Quickly, Rey offers out the two books as Holdo pulls out the scanner. Red light hovers over the barcodes briefly before beeping for confirmation. “Due date is on the receipt. Hope to see ya again, yeah?”

“The feeling is mutual,” remarks Rey. Holdo smiles again then turns to Ben, pointing her finger.

“Tell yer mother she needs to answer ‘er phone. I’ve been tryin’ to set something up with ‘er for _months_.” He hums amusedly, backing away from the desk alongside Rey.

“I’ll pass o'er the message, Miss Holdo.”

“Ya better,” she warns. Her gaze lingers on him as Ben follows Rey. They walk back to the wooden stool. 

“Thanks, Ben. I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, honestly. I do it all the time for freshmen at the beginnin' of the semester.” Ben wants to slap himself when Rey’s smile dims a little. _Ah, Jesus, I’m so fuckin’ stupid._

“Thank you still.” She backs away slowly and heads towards the entrance doors. His thoughts from before impede into his consciousness and he catches up to her.

“Hey,” he says. “I can show ya to yer next class if ya like. I know the school can be—”

“Impossible to find anything in?” Rey offers sarcastically. Her bluff doesn’t hold as she unzips her messenger bag and slips the two books inside. Once she looks back up to meet his eyes, she smiles. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot actually.” Her acceptance of his offer is a little more jarring than he’d like to admit. 

“Okay…” he trails off. “Uh— well, where’s yer next class?” She fumbles around in her shorts’ pocket and pulls out a neatly quarter-folded paper and touches her finger to the page. He peers over her shoulder to see.

“Anatomy, room three-eleven.”

“Oh, that’s the same hallway as our second hour. It’s just on the opposite side. I’ll— uh— take ya there.” 

“Alright,” she mutters. “Lead the way.” Ben turns to the left and strolls towards the stairway ahead. As they walk, Rey seems content to stare at the small shirt he wears. A shriveled note of disappointment fawns over him. _I hope_ _she’s not_ — “Do you listen to Pierce the Veil?”

“Yeah, how’d ya know—”

“Your shirt…” she trails off. Ben looks down briefly and then laughs; he forgot what was even on it. All he remembered was how people looked at him in it. He avoids making that embarrassing thought public. 

“Christ— yeah, I like listenin’ to ‘em sometimes.” He starts ascending the steps and Rey follows at his side. Her messenger bag bumps along her hip to the rhythm of her steps.

“I like to listen to them, too. I have to be in a particular mood, though.” Ben smiles broadly. Rey skips up the steps to catch up with his long legs. They reach the top of the stairway and he makes a left. “What about you?”

“I’m always up for anythin’,” Ben admits. He scratches an itch near his nose. “But I do get moods, I guess.”

“I would never guess it. I’ve only seen you make one or two faces.” Flushing, he stammers to respond. They continue down the hallway and pass down a ramp. He isn’t really mad with her teasing— _it feels different, somehow_ — but plays defensive anyway.

“Alright, just so ya know, I do got other fuckin’ expressions.” Her eyes widen and a small amused noise shoots out, seemingly against her own will.

“So you curse… _intriguing_.” 

“Well, shit,” he mumbles sarcastically. “I revealed myself.”

“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Rey says. “You didn’t seem like much of a talker.”

“I’m not…” Room three-eleven comes into vision, just a foot or less away. “This is it.” He inclines his head towards it. She stares for a few moments, then smirks.

“I’m glad I’ve been chosen to hear your sweet obscenities. It’s been nice talking to you, Ben.”

“Same ‘ere, Rey.” The bell rings and the rushing sound of students below rumble low. She attempts to open the door to her class, finding it locked. Ben takes the opportunity. “We’re havin’ dinner with ya tomorrow.” Rey’s neck snaps back to meet him, incredulous.

“What?” Her mind catches up to her and her lips form the familiar circle of realization. “Oh… so you’re Leia’s son?” Ben sighs deeply, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“The one and only.” He licks his lips and looks to the speckled floor. 

“I’ll make sure Poe and Finn won’t bother you then,” she says, assured. Ben’s head lifts from the ground and onto her. Her eyes shift to behind him, watching the incoming hordes of people. “I got to get to class now—”

“Yeah, me too.” Once again, she flashes that bright, bright smile— it’s becoming a signature— in his direction. 

“Bye, Ben.”

“See ya.”

Ben doesn’t recognize he is late until he meets the disapproving glare of Mr. Pryde.

* * *

His last hour consists of a painfully dull TED talk and manages to feel longer than a block day. In the darkness, lit only by the projector, Ben counts the minutes going by on his phone underneath the table. It’s a torturous game, fueled by masochism and a drive for it all to end. Mrs. Tyce was the kind of teacher that Ben struggled with. Her content was disengaging, her teaching style was painful, and she expected too little of her students. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why he wanted a challenge though. _What the fuck am I? A teacher’s pet?_ The other students at his table slouch in their seats. Kaydel, the only one who seems remotely interested, stares blankly through the projection. Across from her, Beaumont’s eyes flutter shut and snap open repeatedly. Underneath the table, popping his knuckles and joints to keep himself awake. 

The video is only halfway done when the bell finally— _thank God_ — rings.

“Alright, have a good afternoon. We will finish this tomorrow,” says Tyce. Ben eagerly pockets his phone and lifts his backpack from the floor. He swings the strap over his shoulder and makes long strides towards the front of the school. A large mass of people surround and slow his path as he reaches the entry doors. Eventually, with a few nudges and quick motions, Ben slips through the doorway and spots his bus parked between two others. He is one of the first few on and he takes the same seat he took this morning. 

Ben sighs bitterly, the humidity of the atmosphere working itself through his body. The rustling, shuffling, laughing, chatting, and usual bantering of his bus filters in within the next few minutes. Sometimes, he can just listen to their loudness to drown out any lingering thoughts in his head. This isn’t one of those times. He pulls out his phone and earbuds, flips through a long list of unfinished playlists, and chooses the same one with the Swift songs of his childhood he listened to earlier. 

Outside, he watches hundreds of people choose their own routes off the school property: to gas-guzzling buses, to houses nearby, or to the parking lot just out of sight. The grass is greener than it was in the spring, healthier in the heat of the summer. The sun boils down from above, every so often hitting Ben’s vision with a blinding ray of reflection. A gaggle of boys, known for their general assholery and lack of respect, approach the bus at the same time as Rey— _ah God no… not Rey_.

“Who the fuck are ya?” one of them asks. Their collective eyes rake over her body in a rather unpleasant manner. If Ben had been down there with her, he might just punch him. Rey doesn’t flinch or even acknowledge the question whatsoever. Her head is held high as she ascends the steps and onto the small walkway. “Hey, who are ya?” 

His calls and the group’s toxic curiosity don’t rouse her attention. She continues towards the back of the bus. Ben glances to his left only to find the seat she had taken previously occupied by two girls. Rey quickly comes to the same realization, chewing her lip and turning to him. Her eyes carry a nervousness that reaches her pleading smile. He pulls out an earbud.

“May I sit here?” Ben nods soundlessly. Relief floods her tense body as she swings her messenger bag to the opposite shoulder and sits down next to him. He moves his legs closer together to accommodate her and feels the rumble of the bus’ engine come to life beneath them. The driver follows the bus in front of them, swerving with practice out onto the busy street ahead.

Rey sits with straight posture, fingers fumbling with a loose string on her flannel. Ben tries to find comfort in the silence but eventually is forced to resign when she nudges him. “What are you listening to now?” Right at that moment, he fully takes in the familiar notes and lyrics of “White Horse”. His face heats red with embarrassment. _Ah fuck._

“Uh— I, um—” Ben stumbles to find the right words to explain it away, hide it, or really say anything at all instead of floundering. “Ya ain’t gonna— uh— make it a thing, are ya?” She laughs short and sweet.

“Fucking hell,” Rey breathes. “Now I _have_ to know. Give me your phone.” Reluctantly, he hands it over. She scans his lock screen and nods, seemingly impressed. “So... you have taste.” Ben smiles tightly. “Do you know what the only embarrassing thing here is?” Ben quirks an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks.

“Your lock screen. What the hell is this?” She gives him back his phone and points at the bokeh wallpaper. He chuckles and shrugs.

“Literally, I don’t think I’ve changed it since I got it. I’m just kinda borin’… I guess.” Rey shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“No, I don’t buy that. We’re going to work something out, Ben. You cannot live on with the basic bitch wallpaper. It’s— it should be illegal.” He huffs, humored, and looks to the window briefly. The blur of moving colors is coming to the first stop. Three stops from now, they’ll both have to get off the bus. 

“Alright, what should I change it to then?” Her eyes search his body, trying to find something of interest. Lingering on his shirt, Ben starts to understand her pattern of thinking. “No, I ain’t makin’ my wallpaper Vic Fuentes. I listen to ‘em, but I don't _simp_ for them.” Rey cocks her head in defeat.

“I assumed Taylor wasn’t going to be an option.” He chuckles again. 

“Yeah, no. Not somethin’ I think I wanna advertise.” She pulls his abandoned earbud to her ear, pausing before putting it in. 

“Does this gross you out?” she asks. Ben closes his eyes and shakes his head, hand covering his face. Truthfully, he isn’t as squeamish about it as he’d like her to believe. He isn’t lying either; it’s simply a shock to his senses that she would be so willing to possibly exchange earwax— _Christ, why did I just put it that way? I made it even worse._

“Just— just wipe it off before you do, yeah?” His hand lowers as she leans closer, peering at his phone. Eyes scanning back and forth, a pleased expression spreads across her face. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

“What about a white horse?” Her eyebrows raise, mouth parts, and hands lift up in anticipation of his reaction. Ben bites his lip, holding back the extremely ugly laughter threatening to spill out. Rey playfully punches his shoulder and mocks offense. “Oh, come on! That was a _great_ idea.”

“It was somethin’, that’s for sure.” 

“Cold. That was _cold_ , Ben.” He smirks and chances a glance out the window. He finds they’ve already stopped twice and their stop is only one away. “Well, if my ideas aren’t speaking to you, why don’t _you_ give it a shot?” Ben scoffs and looks down at his phone.

“Gimme a minute.” He opens the camera on his phone, turns his body towards the window, and snaps a picture of the moving surroundings. Sliding down the plethora of commands, he taps on the first sight of “wallpaper” and adjusts the image to fit. Rey watches in abject horror.

“You cannot be fucking serious.”

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” says Ben smugly. The bus slows to a stop and a couple of kids leave their seats. “Next stop is ours.” She smiles _the_ smile and nods, a strand of hair falling in front of her eyes. An urge rises inside of him to part it away. _What the hell?_

“Okay,” Rey speaks. Somehow her closeness feels _too_ close. He’s glad their stop is next. “Are you— um— going home?” He nods, unsure of what else to say. “Oh, alright.” Her disappointment isn’t as well hidden as she’d like to pull off, eyes parting from his awkwardly. _Fuck, that’s not— it ain’t about you. I’m just_ —

“I have ta catch up on analysis homework. Do ya— are ya wantin’ to hang out?” _Real smooth,_ he thinks. That little spark of hope draws her in again and she nods cautiously.

“Yeah. I didn’t want to seem clingy or anything— I just think you seem cool. Definitely cooler than Poe or any of those bitches in Ceramics.” Ben smiles in a way he hasn’t in a long time; it’s the kind of smile absent from his family photos and school yearbooks, special in its gentleness.

“I’m free on Wednesday… and it’s a half-day so—”

“What’s a half-day?” Rey asks. The bus stops abruptly, leaning them forward.

“I’ll tell you when we get off.” Rey scrambles to stand and Ben follows her. The guy from the gaggle eyes them both unpleasantly as they pass through the aisle. He avoids meeting his prying, unwanted gaze. Rey hesitates the last step and he waits as she slowly ensures her drop to the asphalt doesn’t end in disaster. He drops with practice (aided by his abnormal height) and plants his slides firm against the road. The bus doors hiss and close behind them. The sun glares on the back of his head and sets the dark hair ablaze. A sweat starts to work its way through his body and the sweatpants are _not_ working with him either. 

“So… is it like _half_ of a normal day? How does it work?” Ben, for the first time since he started high school, doesn’t look back as the bus continues down the road. Instead, he occupies himself by answering her question.

“Yeah, it’s all yer even hours for an hour and thirty each. We get out an hour and thirty early, too.” Her face lights up with immeasurable joy.

“Damn! That’s awesome… why doesn’t _every_ school do that?” Ben shrugs as they start to walk the brutal blocks ahead. He heads for Rey’s side of the street, hiding from the sun in the shade of the occasional tree.

“I dunno. Sometimes, I think it’s more painful than regular days.”

“Why?” Rey asks.

“They last forever and some classes just refuse to fuckin’ end.” She hums in agreement. 

“I can understand that… do you just want to meet up on the bus then?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” They turn the corner and Ben puffs away a piece of hair from sticking to his forehead.

“Fuck this weather,” he murmurs. 

“Preach. I cannot stand being sweaty. This sucks.” Ben bites his lip, longing for the shower in his house. On the opposite side of the street, it isn’t too far from him and if he got desperate, he’s sure Rey would understand. But, he isn’t going to be rude for the sake of himself— _never that_.

“Alright, ya know this is yer house, right?” Rey looks to the house and stares for an alarming amount of seconds.

“Yes… I think.” She chuckles nervously, removing the messenger bag from her shoulder to carry it in her hand. “Did I mention my memory is shit?”

“No, but I was startin’ to wonder.” She huffs out a ragged breath and steps backward, eyes trained on Ben.

“Well, I guess this is farewell.” She raises her arms and salutes him. “Goodbye, Ben.”

“Goodbye, Rey.”

As she retreats, Ben finds himself lingering in the blaring heat— feet stinging with fresh blisters— if only to watch the garage door shut behind her.

* * *

The cold shower is a temporary relief from the heat and despite his pleading texts, Leia remains staunch on keeping the AC off and the windows down. Ben sits on the couch, finishing up the trig problems in his boxers and a muscle shirt he threw in the washer before rinsing off. The humidity sneaks its way throughout the house and underneath his skin. The notebook the assignment is propped against sticks to his leg as he pulls it away and replaces it in his backpack. The overwhelming warmth hits his head funny, makes him feel lightheaded, and sparks a pulsing behind his eyes. With no more work to do, he lays on the couch and rests his eyes. 

Floaters mark the blackness, sparks of color moving in a kaleidoscope of motion. It’s peaceful and tranquil and a perfect respite from the long day he’s had. Ben briefly considers whether this could lead to a nap or not. Ultimately, he decides that napping would be impossible given the heat penetrating the house and occupying every nook and cranny, like it was born to do so. A harsh sigh expels as he reluctantly opens his eyes and the floaters gradually fade away from his vision. 

“Fuck me.” He leans to the coffee table and grabs his phone. He doesn’t remember ever getting Rey’s number— _God, that sounds wrong_ — but the urge to text her or talk to her again is persistent. At the same time, he doesn’t want to come off too strong or clingy, as she told him. Maybe she wouldn’t see it that way, though. It doesn’t matter either way; he doesn’t have her damn number. 

Ben unlocks his phone and plugs in his earbuds. He opens Spotify and searches aimlessly for any playlists that pique his interest. He resolves to playing his liked songs and skipping past songs that don’t quite feel right. He lays and listens for some time, losing himself in the various melodies and tunes. Sometimes, he wonders whether his reliance on music to calm him is a bad thing, a thing waiting to bite him in the ass when it sees fit. Ben doesn’t linger too long on that. A ping and notification banner shows him the very last thing he ever wants to see. 

> **_Dad_ **
> 
> _Hey, kid. Thought of you._

A seizing feeling captures his stomach. But, it doesn’t quite end there. Another ping and another notification banner replace it.

> **_Dad_ **
> 
> _Attachment: 1 Image_

Ben taps and holds on to the banner. The text opens a smaller window in which he sees a photo of his Honda Accord’s dashboard. Hanging from the rearview window is a familiar bracelet. It’s one he assembled as a young boy, made with colored plastic lacing and neon pony beads. He can remember the smile on his father’s face, stretching his skin, as he gave it to him. He recalls Chewie’s shaggy fur and the feeling of _mattering_. 

Suddenly, Ben is taken to an empty place he’s been all too many times before, a void of spiraling memories: a birthday party no one attended, arguments in the kitchen, puffs of smoke evaporating on the porch as a deal is made, a little boy alone after school with no homework left to do, the Father’s Days without a father, and a mother crying in the perceived secrecy of her bedroom (what used to be _their_ bedroom). 

Clutching one hand to her mouth and the other hand to the white dress,— gifted to her when they were so deeply in love— she sobbed and collapsed to her knees. The echoes of her breakdown in the closet reverb in his head and play a somber melody that drowns out even the music buzzing through his earbuds. Ben only hears her pain and wrenching heartbreak. He didn’t know what to do for her then, simply standing over her shock-still. 

He finds himself growing still again at the very thought. His grip on his phone clenches and his face hardens into steel. Ben can feel the emotion bubble to the surface in the ugliest way. He grits his teeth, tugs out his earbuds, and tosses his phone to the opposite side of the couch. He sits up, swinging his legs, and runs a trembling hand through his hair. Shaky breaths and a tightness in his chest let Ben know he is far from okay. 

He is furious. 

He pictures all the things he could smash into pieces, all the things he could crush in his hands, and all the things he would say at his father’s funeral. A beautiful little image of himself at the podium, recounting every time he left when things got hard. Ben drifts from memory to memory, an unease settling deep within. 

With the beaded bracelet fitting tight to his father’s wrist, he can remember the rumbling vibration of the car beneath his small body. His hugs used to feel so warm and comforting. The last time they hugged, Ben only felt the forced nature of it. Thinking back on it, his dad probably never wanted to be there. That feeling of _mattering_ to him, manufactured from his mom’s reassurance and his reassuring lies, had never been the truth— _not even once._

_“Are ya gonna leave, Dad?”_

_“Nah, kid. Why would I do a thing like that?”_

_I hate ya. I fuckin’ hate ya._

The everyday sound of the garage door opening and closing alerts him to his mother’s presence. His legs take him to the kitchen before he can protest it. The doorknob moves back and forth, Leia trying to unlock it on the other side. Ben is quicker and unlocks the door. 

She turns the knob and greets him with immediate concern, her wrinkled features furrowing in confusion. There are plastic bags of groceries in both her hands. His glassy eyes meet hers. He doesn’t really register what he is doing before he does it. His too-long arms wrap around her and his head leans down to fit in the crook between her neck and shoulder. Laughter hums through her small body as her arms return the gesture, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Where’s this coming from?” she asks softly. Ben doesn’t answer, content to simply hug her. She acknowledges his silence as its own kind of response. “Alright then.” A shuddering sigh escapes him. The boiling rage within cools in an instant. All he is left with is the warmth of her arms and her presence. He inhales, taking in the scent of cigarettes and a floral perfume he bought her last year for Christmas. 

“I love ya, Mom,” he murmurs. Her rubbing hands on his back cease for a moment. Against his shoulder, he can feel Leia’s lips form into a smile. She hugs him tighter.

“I love ya, too, Ben.”


	3. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School weighs a little heavier after Han's text, but Rey makes it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter installment as the next chapter could be delayed due to school starting up again.
> 
> Thanks to the magnificent [skittykitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty) for betaing!

Clawing under his skin and looking over the cliffside, Ben doesn’t quite know what to do. His focus remains solely on the anger and provocation of his dad’s text. He’d much prefer it if he never heard from him again. At least then, he’d have peace of mind. Instead, he’s left restless and praying for some kind of resolution to the unpleasant mixture of memories and feelings. Rey isn’t on the bus this morning and Ben doesn’t wait up for her. His mind is a little too preoccupied for him to notice her absence or wonder her whereabouts. 

The bus ride is normal despite the lingering presence of _him_. Han doesn’t text him for nothing and that’s the part that’s stalling him up with incessant, intrusive questions on the matter. _Is he comin’ tonight? What am I gonna do if he shows face? What will he be dealin’?_ Then, as he sits down early for his first hour, another thought pops into his head. _What’ll Rey think of him?_ He swallows harshly, mouth dry from no water or food. His stomach growls in protest but he doesn’t have the mind to care. He knows in the next few hours, his head will start to pound from the dehydration. Ben chews his cheek as the bell rings and the class begins.

The lecture, PowerPoint, and assignment is a blur of motion and words Ben doesn’t register or remember the moment he leaves. No— his head is stuck playing through memories like chess, expertly pulling up unsavory ones that’ll strike down pawns to nab the queen. Joy rides in his beloved shitty car and a dog slobbering over his face; Leia pouring over bills in the kitchen, mascara stained down against her face, screaming over the phone.

The hallways are full of people he has seen over the years but never spoken to. He wonders whether he disguises his abhorrent mood well enough for them to never notice. No one gives him a look or stops to ask how’s he’s doing so he figures his hiding strategy is a decent one. Yet, when he walks into his second hour, Poe seems keen on poking the bear. Tekka is gone, replaced with a substitute who can’t get the projector to work. Rose hovers over him and points at random parts of the screen, instructing the younger man. Ben takes his seat next to an empty desk. Smug, Poe saunters over and leans over his desk. _Do I ever get a fuckin’ break?_ When their eyes meet, he struggles to contain the urge to punch his grin off his face.

“Hey, Solo,” he greets. “Where’s Rey?” Ignoring him, Ben pulls out a mechanical pencil from his pocket. Poe scoffs and leans back, crossing his arms. “I thought you two were getting… _close_ —”

“Fuck off,” Ben blurts. Poe smiles and points, like a kid pointing out his favorite toy just before Christmas. 

“See _that’s_ the Solo I know. Glad to have you back, buddy. I thought you had—”

“Shut the fuck up before I make you.”

“Getting heated already? What happened? Did she reject—”

“I will fuckin’—”

“Fuckin’ what? What’re you going to do, huh? If I recall correctly, we’re got a dinner planned tonight and Maz ain’t going to be happy if I have a Solo brand bruise when she’s trying to chitchat.” Ben stands up from his seat, chair screeching behind him. 

“I don’t remember givin’ a fuck what Maz thinks.” Poe shrugs and inclines his head to the empty desk beside him.

“Alright, I’ll give you that one, but what about—”

Suddenly, the classroom door slams open. Everyone, Poe and Ben included, turn their heads to stare. Rey enters, visibly frazzled— hair tied in a bun coming undone, the rest of her hair draping down, and eyes landing frantically locking onto the teacher. She rushes over to the substitute, muttering over apologies and excuses unheard. Rose simply gawks at her, speechless. Ben rather feels the same. _Speechless_ , he thinks. _I can’t even—_

“I’ll be damned,” Poe mutters. He watches Rey as relief floods her features. She exhales deeply and turns to Ben. That brilliant signature sunny smile flashes across her face, if only a bit more tired and faint. Looking at her, he gets the feeling he probably looks like a deer in headlights. _Sunshine on a cloudy day_ , he thinks. _God, that’s stupid. So fuckin’ stupid._ Her gaze flickers to Poe. Bottom lip forming a frown, she walks past him and tries to squeeze past his chair. Instinctively, he sits back down and scoots forward.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “Thought I was late.” The bell rings as Poe stares in disbelief. Silently, he returns to his desk. Rose is now sitting in the teacher’s chair, gaze unblinking at the monitor. The substitute stands behind her awkwardly and occasionally peers over her shoulder. Rey curses under her breath and closes her eyes. Her posture slouches in the chair. 

A sweatshirt swallows her while her shorts are just barely hiding beneath it. _She looks comfortable_ , he thinks. Then, he remembers leaving her behind. While she hadn’t shown face and it was unlikely he’d go to check up on her on a good day, Ben finds himself nervous about what he should say next. In this way, her outfit becomes more of an attachment to her frazzled state. _She looks… rushed._

His mother’s voice comes in his head to remind him that _a woman always looks how a woman looks and if ya try to tell ‘er how she looks or she looks a certain way, she’s got ‘ery right to leave ya then and there._ This bit of wisdom is as amusing as it is alarming. He has never really experienced attraction like his peers and he knows why; it’s just an inner battle of trying to come clean with it. He doesn’t like the picture he paints of Leia’s confused face or her outright denial. He despises trying to explain it to anyone but himself. But, he gets the feeling that Rey—

“Alright class, my name’s Mr. Ematt. Your teacher, Mr. Tekka, is having some personal issues and I’ll be taking over for him today.” He looks down at the small packet in his hand, licking a thumb and turning the page. “First, you’ll be watching this video about the author then you’ll finish up reading _The Yellow Wallpaper_.” Behind them, Poe groans audibly.

“Oh god, not again.” Ben chews the corner of his lip as the substitute flicks off the lights. 

“Hi,” Rey speaks finally. His head snaps in her direction, smiling.

“Hey.” 

* * *

The rest of the day feels better somehow. Ben doesn’t want to tether it to his time spent with Rey. That seems a little too quick and a little too easy for his liking. After all, he’s still not sure if they can even call each other friends yet. It’s too early for anything to be solid. Still, it’s impossible to not be caught in her unwavering optimism; it’s infectious. She spreads smiles to replace the memories in his head and she tells jokes to quiet the disquiet harbored within. Whether she sensed it or not, he isn’t really sure. It doesn’t matter either. He’s glad to occupy the same space as her. 

His classes without her are dull, but he can follow the material and complete the work. Ben finds his thoughts drifting away from sour memories to the nerve-wracking future. _What the hell are we gonna do tomorrow?_ He ponders the places he could take her to, whether or not the walk will be a problem for someone so used to city living, and what things she’d appreciate and what she wouldn’t. They don’t know each other too well yet, so he ventures that he’ll just have to learn by the end of the day. He barely remembers that he’s supposed to have dinner with her and Maz. It doesn’t seem nearly as important or worrisome.

All of these things contribute to him sitting down at the cafeteria table a little longer than usual.

Ben wants to find some sort of medium between befriending her and pacing himself. He can’t just rush into these things, especially when it feels so much like it could be great. Quite easily, he can imagine them going to movies together, staying up on weekends, and texting restlessly when she leaves. Maybe they’ll talk about the stuff that bothers them, too. It’s a vision of friendship so intense he’s sure it isn’t realistic. He doesn’t really know Rey, even if it feels like second nature to be around her, and she doesn’t know him— _she doesn’t know me at all._ His mood sours slightly. _What if she doesn’t like me? What if she doesn’t accept—_

“Ben?” Her voice is a welcome retreat from the disturbing train of thought. Rey’s face is alit with a fainter smile than her normal one. Before he can respond, her tray is set down next to his. The food sits idly, consisting of a variety: a paper boat of tri-taters, a cup of strawberry-kiwi frozen juice, several packets of ketchup, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a carton of chocolate milk. She sits with a straighter posture than before, hair tighter in place. “So… do you sit here often?”

“Uh— no, actually.” Ben scrambles to come up with an explanation. “I— um— I usually go to the library when I get done eatin’.”

“Really? How fast do you eat?” She unwraps the plastic on the sandwich and takes a bite.

“Fast,” he answers. “I don’t like the atmosphere.” She looks around, eyes peering at several different tables before turning back to face him.

“Yeah it’s” — Rey swallows and hesitates before taking another bite — “pretty crowded in here.” Teeth sinking down again, Ben is reminded of the food on his own tray. He quickly consumes several bites of the dilapidated pizza slice and swallows just as quickly. He’s aware that the habit is terrible but if Rey notices, she doesn’t make any comment on it. A memory comes to mind and he hums with amusement.

“There was this one time though I wished I’d be in here for,” Ben recounts. “All I heard of it was from Armie, but there were these two kids who got expelled and— like— right before they left, they brought out this big ass speaker and just blasted some insane shit.” Rey smiles, brows furrowed. He finishes the slice in swift succession.

“What did they play?” she asks. Ben shrugs. 

“That’s the fuckin’ mystery. Armie didn’t know and I wasn’t there so I’ll never know.”

“I’ll ask Finn,” she responds. “He’ll probably know what you’re talking about.” At the mention of his name, Ben flinches. Rey notices and her face falters. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“Nah, it’s fine. It ain’t my story anyway.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but Poe seems like he’s always fucking with you. Did something happen between you guys?” Rey flattens the paper boat and rips open a ketchup packet. The ketchup spreads out onto the greasy surface. She dunks a tri-tater into it and bites down. 

“Not… exactly,” Ben says. He quirks his lips in a minor contemplation of how willing he is to give her information. Ultimately, he decides he might as well let her know now then keep it from her. “My dad sold him some weed and skimped on the grams, I guess. He’s kinda shitty like that.” He waits for a reaction of disgust, but she doesn’t give him that. Something like understanding fawns on her features. Strangely, he notices how the paleness of her skin has already tanned with the Kansas summer. _A ray of sunshine…_

“How is that your fault?” There is genuine confusion laced in her tone. Ben isn’t sure if he can answer that. He doesn’t really understand it himself. 

“I dunno. He just doesn’t like me. I’ve never cared to correct him.” Rey looks him dead in the eyes, a serious expression crossing her face.

“Well, you should. He’s been a real cunt if that’s his only problem with you and I don’t take lightly to people treating people like that.” Ben laughs softly, the sound jarring in their surroundings. He’s probably never laughed here. He might never do it again. _Better cherish that shit, Rey._

“I guess so. I dunno, maybe it’s somethin’ else but we’ve never actually talked before.” Rey rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Trust me, I’ve been living with him for two weeks. This is not out of character for him.” She takes another bite of her sandwich and drops it on her tray. After a minute of her chewing, she finishes. “He’s pretty petty.”

“Huh,” Ben mumbles. “What makes ya say that?” She rolls her eyes again.

“He thought I was hitting on Poe.” He nods quietly. It isn’t a surprise to him that Finn likes Poe. (He’d be surprised if someone thought he was straight.) Rey and Ben get up from the table, continuing as they dump their trays. “I wasn’t and I wouldn’t, for the record, but he still thought I was and tried to act like he wasn’t upset about it when he obviously was. I’d rather people be honest with me then pull a trapeze act to avoid addressing the problem.”

“That’s good to know… for future reference.” Rey smiles as his face flushes. _I just said—_

“For future reference, don’t let me catch you skipping breakfast again either.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’ll fucking force a Poptart down your throat.” He smirks viciously. _Oh… you had this comin’._

“Okay, Mommy,” Ben taunts. “What’s your number?” Rey snorts and joins the line to return the tray and utensils. Ben is right beside her. She holds a hand up to her chin and pauses momentarily, as if to contemplate something.

“You know,” she starts. “I don’t think I actually gave you my number.” An ugly laugh bursts out of him. Several people look at him oddly but Ben doesn’t feel the anxiety to care.

“Oh God, it should _not_ be that easy. Not after _that_.” Rey inclines her head in semi-agreement. 

“Touché. I’ll give it to you when you impress me, then.” She drops the cheap silverware in the labeled dispensers and places her tray atop the red tower of plastic. Ben follows this action efficiently and joins her walking out of the cafeteria. 

“Deal. I’ll make an extra effort for dinner.” Rey’s eyes widen then she slaps her hand against her face.

“I have to be honest… I completely forgot that was happening today.” Ben rumbles with his chuckles, the pleasant vibration warming the coolness of unsavory memories. 

“Nah, you’re fine. I— uh— forgot, too.” Flashing her sunny smile once more, he feels like this could last forever— _and I hope it does last forever._

* * *

Dusk settles harshly in the sky, pinks and oranges blending together with the wavy sun. It filters through the window blinds and casts a peripheral golden glow. The humidity proves harsher with time; even the flesh beneath Ben’s skin seems to sweat. He dresses accordingly, plucking fresh laundry from the dryer and picking out something more casual than formal. The worst he could do is draw attention to himself. 

From his mom’s room, he can hear the shower running. He checks his phone and locks it. He lays down on the bed, coils tightening in his stomach. He checks his phone again. _Fifteen minutes_ , he thinks. The coils reach his throat. _Why am I this nervous? It’s just Maz… and Rey._ Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply through his nostrils, Ben focuses on the lingering sting of his blisters beneath his slides. 

He checks his phone. _Thirteen minutes._

“Fuck…” His voice echoes in the barren bedroom. Eyes tracing the popcorn ceiling, he spreads out his arms and legs on top of the messy blankets and sheets. Ben can feel the coil tighten with every passing minute. The shower ceases running. He doesn’t make any effort to move from the bed; instead, he waits for Leia to get dressed and knock on his door. 

He takes the pillow beside his head, places it over his face, and yells halfheartedly into it. His voice scratches and rumbles until he reaches a breaking point where he can’t yell at all without breathing. He throws the pillow across his room. Ben sits up just a little too quickly and his eyes take their time to adjust, edges of his sight black and blurred. When his vision returns in full, he looks around his empty room curiously. _I wonder what Rey would think of my room… I wonder what Rey’s room looks like._

He easily pictures her walking through the door and admiring all the work she could do with it. _How would she decorate it?_ he wonders. One by one, he can see her additions: posters of artists (Taylor Swift for the inside joke), a bookshelf with her own favorites stacked neatly on the shelves, and a slew of random things she was all too willing to give away to him. She might even indulge him with string lights to line his room with or a colored bulb. _What’s her favorite color? Who’s her favorite singer? Does she really want to be my friend or just get in my pants?_

A knock on his door snaps him away from his thoughts.

“Ben,” Leia says. The knob on his door shifts as she enters. Her head peeks from behind the door. “Let’s go.”

“I’m comin’.” He stands to his feet, sniffing. His slides smack against his blistered skin with every step. Ben follows his mother down the stairs and to the door. She closes and locks it with, house key and car key attached to a small pendant in her purse. While he never quite cared, he knows (being well-acquainted with Maz) that they’re probably going somewhere Mexican. He’s never been a picky eater so he doesn’t mind it. But as Leia gets in the driver’s seat and Ben takes the passenger, he finds the coil in his gut clenching painfully. _Is Rey a picky eater? What does she like to eat? What does she like—_

“Son, what’s on your mind?” Leia asks. Her key is in the ignition but the car remains off. She stares at him very placidly, as if in thought. Her eyes remind him of days long gone, when she used to tell him bedtime stories and kiss all his bruises. “I can tell somethin’ is botherin’ ya.”

“I— uh,” he fumbles. “I don’t really know. Just nervous… I guess.” That answer doesn’t seem to satisfy her.

“Don’t lie to me, Ben… have you been hangin’ around Maz’s new girl?” He bites his cheek.

“Yeah, we’ve— uh— talked a bit.” She huffs and looks out the car door window. Leia licks her teeth, as if considering something. He’s seen this face before— when she’s on the cusp of telling him something she thinks he won’t take well. The clenching coil only worsens.

“I knew ‘er grandfather,” says Leia quietly. “He was… a very bad man.” Ben’s eyebrows furrow.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means she could be bad news…” Her tone is grave and hollow,— eyes blank— but Ben doesn’t falter. 

“What did he do?” he asks. “What’s it got to do with ‘er?” Leia doesn’t meet his critical study.

“Grandpa knew ‘em.” Ben’s lips part in shock. _Mom never talks about ‘em_ , he thinks. Voice wavering, she continues. “He used to work for ‘er grandpa, doing jobs for ‘em. Up until the accident, even.” _She never told me what Grandpa Ani did_ … In fact, for all he knew, his grandpa died in a car accident with his grandma too. But the expression on his mother’s face is unsettling; he’s never seen anything quite like it. Age lines bold and bottom lip trembling, she looks on the verge of tears. “He hurt people, Ben… and he hurt ‘em because Palpatine told ‘em to.” He nods solemnly, allowing her some time to recover before he provides any defense for Rey. Leia sniffs and exhales steadily. “But if she’s with Maz, I reckon he didn’t treat ‘er well either.” Ben swallows dryly.

“I dunno. All she’s ever been is nice.” Leia hums, a faint smile overcoming the disquiet.

“Don’t mention what I said. If whatcha say is true, then there’s no reason for me to think of ‘er like that.” She turns the key into ignition and begins backing out of the driveway.

“I ain’t gonna mess up a good thing like this, Mom.”

“Yeah?” Leia murmurs, distractedly. She waits until she’s driving smoothly on the street to pry further. “Do ya like her?” The coil in his stomach clenches at his throat.

“I dunno yet.” _I never know_ , he finishes in his head. If Leia has questions for her son, she doesn’t voice them. Instead, they drive in silence and that suits Ben just fine.

* * *

The low-lit restaurant is familiar to him. Childhood memories resurface, relatively inoffensive and agreeable to him and his fragility. The red and neutral tones make it feel a tolerable kind of warm, in juxtaposition to the nasty humidity they just escaped from. The smell of fresh tortilla wafts pleasantly from the kitchens. Ben and Leia wait as the hostess presses something on a monitor behind a wooden podium on wheels. Her eyes look up to greet them after a while. 

“Welcome to K-Macho’s. How many?” Leia peers over her and seems to satisfy her curiosity immediately. 

“I think our party is already here,” she speaks. The hostess nods and smiles briefly.

“Go right ahead, then.”

Maz is waiting for them when they arrive. The table she reserved in advance was two tables put together. Finn and Poe sit across from each other, chuckling over something he doesn’t know. Onsight, Finn seems to pause; Poe turns his head in Ben’s direction. The coil around his stomach tightens once more. He could very well puke if he didn’t see her waiting there. Rey sits on the cracked back booth next to Maz. Her eyes trace the menu with scrutiny. Leia, beside him, pays him no mind and leans across the table to hug Maz. 

“Maz! It’s so nice to see ya,” Leia greets.

“It’s so nice to see you, deary.”

The grating sound of metal scratching the floor beneath alerts Rey to their presence. Her eyes fall onto Ben scooting out the metal chair across from her and next to his mother. 

“Hi,” she says softly. “You look nice.” He smiles faintly and sits down, chair leg creaking beneath his weight. 

“Thanks,” he mutters. “Ya— uh— look—” It takes him a minute to fully take in her appearance. She isn’t wearing the same clothes from school. Her shirt— a faded Metallica tee— is oversized, hangs loose on her shoulders, and is cropped just above her belly button. Her eyes are touched with neon liner in her waterlines, her lips are tinted strawberry at the edges, and clear gloss shines even in the low light. _She looks—_ “You look… _awesome_.” Her smile brightens and practically shoots out sunshine.

“I'm glad you think so. I do try after all.”

“Honestly, it looks kinda effortless. Did it take long?” She cocks her head and purses her lips, eyes tracing the ceiling in thought.

“I don’t really remember. It’s just become my routine for going out. I don’t think about it much.”

“Huh,” he huffs. “I wish I could fuckin’ do that.” Leia nudges him under the table. Ben doesn’t care to bring attention to it and Rey doesn’t care to notice.

“Really?” she asks. Something about her demeanor seems to loosen its rigidness. She leans forward further, seemingly more comfortable with closer proximity. Ben isn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Yeah… I think it’d be kick ass.” Rey smiles again and he can feel the glow of it radiate on his skin. _What a stupid way to get a sunburn_ , he thinks. _What a stupid thing to think._

“I can show you if you want?” Ben smiles and nods enthusiastically.

“Not tomorrow though. Forecast says it’ll be too hot for anything other than ice water.”

“How about Friday then?” Rey purposes. “Besides, I got to plan with someone about that dance.” Ben blinks blankly. _What…_

“A dance?” he asks. “For what?”

“It’s Prom, dude. Finn and Poe are going and I just figured since I’m new I might as well try to make an impression.” He huffs out curiously and mildly embarrassed. _Of fuckin’ course it’s Prom this week_ , he thinks. _Of course,_ _I wouldn’t know about it, the fuckin’ hermit I am—_ “Are you going?”

“I— uh— do ya want honesty?” Ben asks. She snorts and slaps a hand against her face.

“Yes, Ben. I would prefer an honest answer.” He sighs, allowing the chair leg to creak as he shifts awkwardly.

“I didn’t even know it was happening this week,” he admits. “Dances really ain’t my scene.”

A waiter with a bow tie and dress shirt places down a chip and dip bowl full of steaming tortilla chips and salsa. He turns to Ben with a glazed over gaze and reddened eyes. _Looks high_ , he thinks. The waiter pulls out a notepad and pen, flicking it briefly to jut the ink inside.

“Anything to drink?” Leia orders first.

“A margarita with extra salt,” she croaks. 

“Okay… and for you?” 

“Uh— just water.” His pen writes sloppily against the notepad.

“Alright, I’ll be right back with those.” The waiter leaves and Ben doesn’t really remember what they were talking about before. _It’s not like it woulda mattered anyway._ His eyes spot the basket of chips and salsa. The smell of them lures him closer. Rey flinches as Ben plucks a single chip. He dunks it in salsa and pops it into his mouth without question. Her gaze traces him with mild disgust. He simply furrows his brows, swallowing the sharp pieces down his throat.

“What?”

“Is it chunky?” The genuine worry on her face lets him know— _yes, she is picky._

“Nah, not really.” It’s the truth and he doesn’t see why he should lie to her about it. Her nimble fingers reach for a chip. The process of her dipping and consuming said chip is both alarming and fascinating to Ben. It’s overly careful, as if she might be burned by a wrong taste or crunch. Little sparks fire behind her eyes as she chews faster. 

“This is… _good_.”

“Have ya never eaten chips and salsa before?”

“I mean… I have. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Ben pries. She seems taken aback and averts her gaze to her knees. _Oh no_ , he thinks. _Oh God, what the fuck did I do?_ Desperate, he tries to peddle back. “I’m sorry, ya don’t gotta—”

“Um— no, it’s okay.” She licks her teeth, tongue sliding against jagged incisors. “My grandfather always wanted me to— uh— look a certain way… for appearances and such. I never really ate what I wanted.”

“Oh,” Ben blurts. _Christ, what have I done?_ “I’m— I’m sorry that happened to ya. I don’t— that’s just fucked up.” Somehow, Leia is too absorbed in her conversation to acknowledge his swearing. Her radiant smile returns, if only exuding just a fraction of its normal warmth. _Thank the lord._

“Don’t mention it around others, though. My last name… it might not spark the best memories in some people.”

“I can understand that.” Rey looks back to the menu in front of herself and grimaces. 

“Still can’t decide on what to order,” she mumbles. 

“What do you like?”

“Cheese and lots of it.” He smirks viciously.

“Quesadilla or Cheese Enchiladas then.” Rey searches her menu for the items as the waiter from before strolls back to take their orders. He pulls out his notepad and clicks the pen. His eyes fall on Ben, half glare and half exhaustion. 

“What do you want?”

“Uh— I’ll take the Kansas Burrito.” His pen scratches against the notepad.

“What kind of beans?”

“Black.” He returns the menu back to him. The waiter whips his gaze to Rey.

“And you?” She swallows, flashing a timid smile.

“Uh— just cheese quesadillas.” He writes down hard, just barely avoiding piercing through the paper. She looks to Ben and he chuckles in his chest, keeping the sound to himself. The waiter takes her menu when she offers it and moves on. Leia and Maz give their orders, but he doesn’t really pay attention to them. He knows what his mom will get: it’s the same thing he gets. “Did I fuck that up? He seemed—”

“High, he’s very high,” Ben interrupts. “We’re in the middle of him gettin’ off for the night.”

“Ah… I can see that.” Beside him, his mother taps his shoulder. She leans into his ear.

“Your father’s comin’.” Leia returns her attention to Maz. The coils in his stomach return and make him nauseous. _No_ , he thinks. _Please, not now—_ He can feel the color drain from his face and the spirit detach from his body. He doesn’t really notice how Rey’s smile turns into a frown or when her words become a messy blur of inflection and noise, blending together with the sounds of the bustling restaurant. His vision is sharp and distinct in direct juxtaposition to the rest of his senses. He desperately tries to focus on his own breathing. The repetitive rise and fall of his chest and belly are calming and usually enough to settle his nerves. But, it doesn’t work how it wants it to. _Fuck, fuck, fuck—_ Instead, the tightness of his stomach travels up to his chest and throat. His fingers clench and his nails poke into his palms. 

“Ben?” He can hear her voice so clear, but he can’t seem to focus on it. The chatter of other patrons, the footsteps of waiters, the crunch and scraps of forks against plates, and the light tapping of someone nearby all drown him with stimulation. _Please, don’t come. I don’t want ya here. I never want ya here. Why won’t ya just stay away? Why do ya still pretend to—_

He sits in silence, eyes shut as he tries to remain on one sound only. Rey’s voice isn’t consistent enough for him to hone into. While she’s soothing and he’d rather listen to her, he opts for his mother’s voice. Her husky voice filters clear and familiar. All of the noise reduces just a little. As long as he can focus on that and Han doesn’t show up, Ben should be fine. He can salvage this moment with Rey and get out just fine. As long as he doesn’t show face. _He better stay away._ He opens his eyes and smiles very faintly at Rey. Her features are knit in confusion and concern. _I’ll have to answer ‘er questions later. After dinner._

Then, her eyes travel behind him and he knows life ain’t so kind.

“Hey, kid.” Ben doesn’t look up at his voice, too desensitized to do anything but just remain in place. Motionless and still, he doesn’t flinch at the hand on his shoulder either. Somehow, he can maintain his stillness. Memories filter back to him, a symphony of torture. He recalls first his father sneaking into the kitchen at night. Ragged and reeking, Han searched the cabinets for the savings jar his mother kept. He had caught him in the act and was promptly shushed and questioned. 

_“Hey, kid, do ya know where yer mother keeps the jar?”_

Ben didn’t know why he needed it then; all he knew is he needed it and that was enough for him. He isn’t as ignorant now. _He gambled with it_ , he knows. The smell of musk and alcohol lingered on his person and wafted throughout the kitchen. Leia knew he had been there from the stench and had checked the jar to find it empty. Her shrieks of pain were barely audible, kept inside the palm of her hand. Her eyes had pinned Ben and he knew that he had done something terrible. 

Han removes his hand from his shoulder but remains standing behind him. Ben finds trouble swallowing or speaking. Even breathing feels like a chore in the face of him. But that loss of control inspires sparks of fury, pooling deep in his chest. His nails imbed into his skin. _I ain’t gonna do anythin’. I’m gonna be the bigger person._ The rage is tempered inward, boiling inside as he feels his father’s attention shift.

“Leia,” he greets. There is a hesitancy in his tone, as if he knows how his presence affects her but not Ben. _Sounds about right._ From his peripheral vision, he can see his mom’s stony expression. Cold, distant, and detached is how she greets him back.

“Han.” He steps into his view, leather jacket waving with his movement. Ben doesn’t acknowledge or look towards him. Instead, he stares through Rey— _hopefully, she doesn’t think I’m weird or somethin’._

“Maz, I got yer money. Wanna go out back?”

“Yeah, go wait up for me, hon.” 

“Alrighty,” he responds. Ben can hear the echo of his footsteps as he leaves. He waits until he can hear the doors swing shut. The breath he was holding is released. The overstimulation feels a little less intense, but it still isn’t enough. He is more than sure how he must look: pale, sweaty, and drained of any feeling other than emptiness. His body is moving before he can think it through. 

“Excuse me,” he murmurs. Unbeknownst to him, the whole table seems to hear it. Ben makes his way to the bathroom and enters, unsteady. His hands shake and his breathing trembles. The bathroom is surprisingly disorientating and bright in comparison to the ambiance of the dining area. He inhales deeply through his nose and reaches the sinks. His fingers find the cool touch of the faucet lever and pull it roughly to the coldest setting. Freezing water flows through and pools in his hands; he splashes his face. He can feel strands of his hair dampen and stick to his skin. _So much for discretion_ , he thinks bitterly. Then, he can hear the door behind him open softly. 

He doesn’t look up because he doesn’t expect the person to know him.

“Ben?” Rey says. He jolts up from the sink and stares at her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t seem hostile or annoyed with him so that’s a plus. Her face still has a mild glow to it, dimmed no doubt by his immediate spacing out. Rey stands in place. _What is she doin’ here?_ Her arms are crossed against her chest and her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly. Ben turns slowly, trying but failing to find any words. “Are you okay? You didn’t look too hot back there.” _She came to check on me… no one’s ever done that._

“I— uh— sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to…” His voice falls when he realizes that he doesn’t have an excuse. Just then, a man emerges from a bathroom stall and eyes Rey curiously. 

“Dontcha know what bathroom this—” She whips to him, arms falling to her sides immediately.

“Leave or I will pummel you into oblivion.” The man holds up his hands and promptly leaves without washing his hands. “Filthy.” Ben laughs softly. Her attention returns to him.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he mutters.

“Yeah? Well, get used to it. I’m a little… much.”

“No— no, I appreciate it. I admire it. You’re just—”

“Awesome? I think I’ve heard that before.” He smiles, feeling the tension in his body loosen and the memories slither back to their place. He stands a little taller and turns to reach for paper towels. Ben dabs them against his skin to dry his face. “But, seriously… are you alright? I don’t want to overreach your boundaries or anything, but you seemed upset.” He licks his lips and finds them chapped. _Of fuckin’ course I look like a train wreck. Why would I look like anythin’ else?_

“Um— sometimes, I just— uh— go somewhere else. Can’t really explain it, though. It’s not really somethin’ I like people to know.”

“I get that,” she says quietly. “I used to get that way whenever my grandfather came around the house.” There’s a darkness to her expression for a few moments. _Oh_ , he thinks. _She does get it._

“Yeah, my dad” — he throws away the dampened paper towels — “just seems to come outta nowhere.” _I hate him_ remains unsaid. She nods cautiously and pauses, thinking up something. Rey reaches for her pockets and brandishes a pen, a shimmery kind of gelly roll. She uncaps it and grasps his wrist. “Whatcha doin’?” She doesn’t answer for a few moments, simply writing a series of numbers against his skin. He makes no attempt to stop her. _Is she—_

“Here’s my number,” she says. _She is._ “I think you earned it.”

“What the hell did I do?” Ben asks. She smiles, finishing the last number and capping the pen. Her fingers linger on his skin just a little too long. _Careful_ , he thinks. _I ain’t that kind of guy._

“You were vulnerable tonight. I appreciate your honesty and how you are sharing it with me.” Rey doesn’t avoid his gaze and it feels right somehow. _Like a friend_ , he thinks. _Maybe somethin’ more, if she is willin’ to wait._

“Thank ya, Rey.” She removes her fingers and steps backward, back leaning against the door.

“No, thank you, Ben.” Rey salutes him before following her body's momentum and leaving him alone. Ben, once again, has been revived with her presence. _I hope she doesn't go away._


	4. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey spend the half-day together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, [goblin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittykitty).

The classroom is quiet. The only sounds to be heard are the occasional flipping of pages, hushed voices, and possible innuendoes. Inspirational posters and bookstore flyers hang all around the room; they flutter slightly with the window’s breeze. Small slivers of light filter through the blinds. Conveniently for Ben, they hit him right in the eyes. He lowers his torso closer to the surface of the desk. 

Rey, wearing her yellow sunglasses in class, doesn’t seem affected by the glaring rays of sunshine. Instead, her attention remains on a small paragraph summary of the events of _The Yellow Wallpaper_. They haven’t talked much since the beginning of class (when they were allowed to talk) but something is still nagging him, a little record playing back and forth until it culminates in his head thumping unpleasantly.

_“Hey, kid.”_

“I hate ‘im.” Perhaps, it’s the agonizing stretch of time that urges Ben to say it. Maybe, it’s the fact that they haven’t talked about much of anything since the previous night. Maybe, it’s the fact that they spent all night texting each other about nothing. 

He isn’t really sure what it is that compels him to say it. Ben didn’t quite clear it up for Rey. She looks at him, all polite and smiley. She isn’t making fun of him but rather the moment. _It is pretty funny_ , he thinks stupidly. He laughs and bites his bottom lip. “God, that sounded stupid.”

“Yeah— just a little.” Her fingers trace the pencil lines with colored markers. Her skill is apparent in the way she goes up and down the paper, hatching. “Why do you hate him?” she asks, tone cautious. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“He’s a gambler… put mom in debt tryin’ to win big. Made our lives hard— harder than it needed to be.” Her eyes lift from the paper to him.

“I’m sorry… he sounds like a jackass.” Rey chews her cheek briefly. “Jackass family members united?” _An organization I can get behind._

“Fuck yeah,” Ben whispers. “Where’s the first meetin’?”

“Depends,” she mutters. “Where are you taking me after school?” His breath hitches hard in his chest. _Christ, that was… what was that?_

“Uh— I got a few ideas. What about Spangles?” 

“Sounds great to me.” They finish the one-pager in the next ten minutes, left with nothing to do but exchange texts and memes for the rest of the hour.

* * *

Ben can’t wait to get out of his sixth hour. Hux seems keen to stare him down the entire time he is lifting weights and it’s rather uncomfortable— _don’t ya got anywhere else to look, buddy?_ Sweat glistens lightly on his skin and the room smells like it too. 

The body odor wafts unpleasantly, concentrated on one or two particularly foul fellows. Ben doesn’t care to determine who those kids might be. He’d rather just fucking leave. The teacher dismisses them to the locker rooms and he makes it his sworn duty to dress as quickly as humanly possible. 

His shirt and shorts fall to the ground as soon as he opens his locker. He slips into his normal clothes with familiar ease. Ben puts on his deodorant as more guys file into the locker room in waves. Their smell is acidic, kind of like Xenomorph blood to the eyes and nostrils. 

He finds his eyes pinned to the clock above, watching as the antiquated hands tick ever so slowly. _Fuck, hurry it up._ He reaches for his phone and his backpack, slipping it over his shoulder. A buzz emanates from his phone and a notification banner pops onto his screen. He opens it up immediately. 

> **_Rey_ **
> 
> _See you on the bus._

He can feel Hux’s eyes follow him as he walks in last, something strangely unsettling about the way he glares. _Christ, man. Just let it go._ Ben shuts the locker a little louder than he intends. The action garners a few strange looks but Ben shakes it off quickly. His phone buzzes again.

> **_Rey_ **
> 
> _School needs to fucking end._

He smiles briefly and texts back.

> **_Ben_ **
> 
> _It’s going longer than the Dust Bowl._

Ben pockets his phone at the sound of the bell ringing and picks up his pace, using his long legs to pass the usual suspects itching to leave first. He enters the hallway with purpose and speed, a strangely exhilarating experience compared to the former (whereas he usually took shortcuts, nabbed a seat, and got off in silence).

_Is this what it feels like to be friends?_ He gets the feeling it’s a little more than friendly to be so excited to see her, but he doesn’t linger on it. Thinking too hard would just make his head hurt. He strolls towards his normal exit way and spots Rey amongst a crowd of people pushing towards the doors. _Should I call out for ‘er?_

He elects to just catch up with her instead, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than he already has today. It’s been an odd feeling to have eyes on him when, normally, nobody acknowledges him at all. Ben isn’t used to it and he’s pretty sure he never will be. He also knows it isn’t going to last. 

Once it’s normal for him to smile, laugh, and have a friend it won’t be jarring for people to see. They’ll lose interest in him, just as it happens with everyone else. Striding past slow walkers and loud talkers, he exits through the same doors as Rey and makes his way to the bus. Distantly, he can feel the faint buzz of another notification in his pocket, but he doesn’t check it.

Ben gets on the bus and sees her waiting in the back. Her hair is down again, whipping lightly with the breeze. Immediately, her eyes meet his and she offers that sunshiny smile; he feels like it’s second nature and obligation to return it. _I wanna keep seein’ her smile… but why?_

He continues down the aisle, stepping over wrappers and crunching crumbs of something beneath his shoes. (He finally discarded the slides blistering his feet and traded them in for a pair of worn Converse. They weren’t exactly comfortable but they didn’t chafe his skin raw throughout the day.) As people shuffle in behind him, he takes a seat at Rey’s side.

“Ben,” she says slowly. 

“Rey.” Her smile becomes wistful, as if she doesn’t want to seem too eager. _God, she makes it seem like it’s a… date._ Tendrils of coils start to form in his stomach, a snake of anxiety clenching ever so slightly. _It kinda is a date._

“How are we getting around?” she asks. He licks his lips and scratches his head.

“Depends what ya got to offer. I don’t got bus money or a car.”

“I can take Maz’s so we don’t have to walk.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“We might have to talk Finn into handing me the keys, though.”

“Well, fuck me.”

“You two could maybe make amends? I know he— uh— noticed what happened last night.” Ben covers his face with his hands and huffs into his palms, elbows leaning on his thighs.

“Yeah? That obvious, huh?” he asks. She nods slowly.

“I mean… yes? You looked like you were going to fucking faint.” His hands drag down to just covering his lips.

“Fuck my life,” he rumbles.

“Could’ve been worse. You could have actually fainted.”

“I fuckin’ thought about it.” Rey chuckles snidely.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t. You’re here and we’re going to hang out. Don’t feel too bad about it. Think of the plus side. You got my number!” Ben snorts.

“You were gonna give it to me—”

“You don’t know that,” Rey cuts in. “I can do whatever I want, wherever I want.” _Yes_ , Ben thinks. _You absolutely could._ “Besides, Finn is nice. I don’t know why he decided to target you. If he tries anything, I’ll back you up.”

“Alright.” He smiles hesitantly. She looks to the window and stares absently at the fast-moving blur of streets, houses, lawns, and trees. 

“I think I’m starting to understand why you like the view so much,” she says softly. 

“Yeah?” Her hair flicks with the wind blowing through the cracked window. Rey turns back to him, sunshine reflecting against her face. _She looks…_

“Yeah.”

* * *

When they reach Maz’s house, he considers his options. Ben doesn’t like confrontation and much less awkward conversations. Finn is bound to be awkward if he is civil and downright mean if he isn’t. _If what Rey says is true_ , he thinks, _then he might say somethin’ that’ll really pinch a nerve._ The coils in his stomach tighten and he bites his lip. 

Rey fumbles with the set of different keys on her lanyard. He could easily flee to his own house just across the street and avoid any contact until Rey comes back out. The plan— _which coulda worked real great for me_ — is thrown out when Rey takes him by the wrist and pulls him in the door. 

He hasn’t been inside Maz’s since he was a kid. Aside from a few pieces of furniture and new picture frames, it doesn’t look that different at all from what he remembers. Ben tries to think of the correlating emotion with the memory but all he can recall is the walls and slick wooden floor. He recalls the feeling of the carpet beneath his toes and the ambiance of the television blaring VHS Disney movies. 

He smells the sage permeating through the house. Maz only burns it when she thinks ghosts are about. Her superstitions are shared by his mother; they often exchange words over spirituality and, if he was listening, they probably did over dinner as well. A pair of Nikes and several sets of slides and flip-flops lay abandoned near a coat rack by the staircase. Rey kicks off her shoes towards the pile and he mimics the action, if only a bit more carefully.

“Let’s go find Finn.” Ben nods and follows her up the stairs. She skips up the steps, keys jangling around her neck. Upstairs, he hears the rumble of music grow louder as they get closer. It’s familiar but not quite something he could ever recognize. It’s just instrumental, sort of like a film score. If he remembers correctly, Finn is a part of video classes at school. _That checks out._ Rey stands outside his door and knocks. Behind the door, commotion arises: hushed voices arguing and rushed footsteps. Rey places a hand over her mouth, but it doesn’t prevent her snickering. “Oh my god.” 

“They’re not—”

“They totally are—”

The door cracks open. Finn leans his body in the doorway, strategically hiding most of his room. He looks disheveled and exasperated. Sweat gleams on his forehead; it reminds Ben of the humidity of the summer air.

“Rey?” Finn asks. “What the hell are—“ His eyes flicker to meet Ben’s and he straightens. He steps forward and closes the door behind him, a frown working its way onto his face. “What is he doin’ here?” Rey narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

“He’s my friend and we’re going somewhere. I want the keys.” 

“Come on. He’s—”

“I’m what?” Finn rolls his eyes.

“You’re a Solo.” Rey’s arms drop to her side.

“So? The fuck does that even mean?” she asks.

“Depends on what he wants from ya.”

“I don’t want anythin’.”

“Shut the fuck up, Finn, and give me the keys.”

“Nah, what does he want from ya?”

“Maybe nothin’,” Ben spits. “Maybe I ain’t a fuckin’ allo, shithead.” There’s a moment of silence where nobody says a word. Both are stricken with shock. Finn’s face goes blank and speechless. Rey isn’t as surprised but seems to pause nonetheless. _Oh… fuck me._ As soon as he meets her eye, it fades away.

“Just give me the damn keys,” Rey pleads. Finn disappears behind the door, shuts it, and reemerges in a flash with the key. She snatches them from his hands and pockets them. “And tell Poe he doesn’t need to hide in the fucking closet anymore, yeah?” He nods silently, saluting her sarcastically.

“Yeah…” He shuts the door abruptly and Rey sighs, staring blankly at the door.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “I don’t think that could have gone worse.” Ben doesn’t say a word. _I’ve already said too much._ Rey swallows and faces him with a pleasant expression— all dimples and smiles. “But for the record, that was kinda an awesome way to come out.” The snake in his stomach slithers away and the overflowing relief eases the tension in his body. Ben chuckles as she walks towards the stairs.

“I didn’t specify anythin’, though.”

“And you don’t have to. You can keep it ambiguous. Mystery can be fun.” Strands of hair fall in front of her face; her hand holds onto the wooden handrail. “Or you can tell me if you want to. I just don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for.”

“Alright,” Ben mutters. “I’ll tell ya… soon.” Her eyes reflect the light shining through the windows downstairs.

“Mystery, it is.” _For now_.

* * *

Rey’s driving is surprisingly smooth. She’s a natural at the wheel— unlike Hux, who often made Ben feel like he needed to puke when he got out of his car— and proud of it, too. He would like to compliment her and recognize it but he’s still too raw to speak so freely with her. Comfortable silence resides between them, though. Music plays over the radio and wind whips his hair through the open windows. 

(He knows this car from the few months of his childhood spent at Maz’s as his mother struggled to find a place to rent out. The AC is dead, and Maz is the kind of woman too cheap to care about something she considers “privilege”. In that respect, Ben can easily understand why his mom gets along with her.) Recollecting thoughts and evaluating new memories doesn’t sour his mood or engage his temper. He doesn’t really care if Finn knows and he’s glad the cats out of the bag with Rey. _She might’ve tried somethin’ too quick…_

Yet, something unsettles him about that thought. It’s not entirely right with him. He wants something beyond what they are growing now and that realization is frightening. A part of Ben wants to take it all back if only to save something he doesn’t know with certainty. _Maybe, I do want her to try somethin’… sometime. But, I don’t know her well enough. I don’t even know who she likes. Would she like me? Would she… wait for me to like her?_

Her car parks in a stall in front of Spangles. Ben rolls up his own window. She pulls out the keys from the ignition— music stopping abruptly— and crams them into a pocket on her shorts. Rey leans back against the leather chair, sighing deeply. The humidity and heat seep into his skin— _she’s got to feel it, too._

“If I move right now, it’s going to rip my skin.” She grimaces and laughs.

“Oh God, ya got a predicament there.” 

“Fuck” — she opens the door and tears away from the sticky leather seat — “my life.” He laughs harder as she pulls herself from the car. Ben follows suit, avoiding the same displeasure with his choice of basketball shorts that reach just above his knees. He shuts the car door behind him and makes the mistake of meeting eye to eye with the sun. Floaters follow his focus as she shields his gaze with a hand. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this sweaty before,” Rey remarks. For some odd reason, the tired tone of her voice brings a smile to his lips. A brief image of her dozing against him pops into his head unbidden. _Fuck. Keep it together, Solo._ Rey shuts the door and smiles at him. It’s so bright— it could brand him. _Would I mind?_ He shakes away the thought as they walk in together.

The joint is no different from the last time he walked in. The air conditioning is a welcome respite from the brutal weather. Cheap checkerboard tile and shiny red benches with silver accents grace his vision. The smells of confection sugar and burgers come in wafts. Rey eyes everything with mysticism. There’s a quality of nostalgia to this place similar to that of Maz’s; many childhood memories were spent sitting on the booths, eating with his mother. 

Leia never talked when she ate and he never felt the need to talk. He was a quiet kid already. But, there was a certain sadness to that reality. She wasn’t like that before. With Han, she talked all the time. When things were good, Leia was vibrant and happy and she spoke. Ben wonders if the silence will finally be broken— if the curse of solitude will finally break with Rey. The smile sneaks back onto his face. 

He guides her to the front and orders what he can with what he has; he dishes out thirty dollars in paper and five in coin. Rey goes off to find a booth for them. It’s surprisingly busy, but then again he never comes in here at this time. Ben is used to spending half-days alone at home, utilizing the extra hours for “self-care”. It’s a pitiful excuse for what he’s actually doing: nothing. _Maybe, this can become a habit… somethin’ we do often._

Ben orders her something tame (a cheeseburger and fries) and orders himself the same. He gets fountain drinks too and decidedly walks over to choose for himself. Ultimately, he just chooses water; he doesn’t really drink much pop and, when he does, he only goes for Sierra Mist. Ben isn’t too sure what to get for Rey. _I should just go and ask._ He strolls around the restaurant until he spots her. Propped up next to a large window, Rey waits for him.

Her expression is untainted by his presence and rather… dreary. Ben has never seen her like this. _Somethin’ must be on her mind_ , he thinks. As his legs move towards her, he has to wonder if interrupting her state was the right choice. The moment she recognizes him, her face lights up (as if she was never down at all) and she ushers him over. _Wonder what she was thinkin’ about?_ He takes his seat, placing down his water, receipt in hand. Rey’s eyes scan his cup with scrutiny. 

“Really? Just water?”

“I’m thirsty.” She rolls her eyes and reaches up for her hair. Her fingers unravel the loose bun on her head and the ponytail is pulled through a hair tie. Ben watches the process in fascination. 

“I’m sure you are.” Spinning the hair around the ball tightly, she crosses the tie and loops it. Rey repeats this process a few times before settling with the more rigid hold. _Looks painful_. Her fingers fall to the tabletop, tapping idly. “So… are you still ditching Prom?” Truth be told, he hadn’t thought about it at all since she mentioned it last night. He wasn’t really sure about it. _But, maybe_ , he thinks. _She could convince me._

“I dunno yet. Do you want me there?” The question feels so utterly stupid when she bursts out in laughter. A few heads turn— people he knows— and he doesn’t care. _Let ‘em look._ It gets him thinking. _I don’t care what people think about me anymore._

“What do you think?” Rey asks sarcastically. “Of course I want you there! Who else would I go with?”

“I dunno… Finn and Poe, maybe?” Her gaze sours. 

“I mean, I guess we’d technically be going with them… but— like— I don’t think they’d be great company.”

“What make ya say that?” 

“Well, they’d bring their covers.” Ben quirks his lips, confused. “Their ‘girlfriends’.” _Oh_ , he thinks.

“Order Fifty-five!”

“I think that’s us,” he says. Rey pushes at his shoulder. Her touch feels strange, not _unwanted_. _What?_

“Go get it, then.” He does as told, standing from the booth and retrieving both trays. His mom mutters advice in his head: _always listen to a lady when she tells ya somethin’._

“Okay,” Ben mumbles to himself. Carrying the trays of food back, he can feel the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Someone has texted him. _Not now. I’ll check it later._ His gaze drifts back to the soda fountain and he frowns briefly. _How did I forget to get her something?_ The empty cup is still void of anything when he sets down the trays and Rey snatches a fry. “Hey, whaddya wanna drink? I wasn’t sure what ya’d like?”

“Do they have lemonade?”

“I think so.”

“Get me that, then.” He nods and does as told. His eyes scan the crowd as the yellow drink flows through. On the opposite side of the restaurant, he pins Armie Hux. It’s a jarring sight to be sure (considering his consistent mockery of places like this) but what’s even more shocking is his company. While only seen from the back, an unmistakable Rose Tico sits across from Hux, fidgeting and talking animated. 

The lemonade spills over onto his fingers. _Jesus Christ._ He pulls away and grabs some napkins to clean his fingers. Someone is waiting for him to leave the fountain. He hurries his actions and caps on a lid with a straw before returning to Rey. Her fries are almost gone while only a few bites have been taken from the burger. He smiles brightly as she takes the drink. 

“Thank you, Ben.” She sips and, with it, enters a visible state of euphoria. He chuckles softly, allowing himself the luxury of food. Between bites, Rey makes a concerted effort to speak. It’s garbled and indiscernible through the food stored in her cheeks. Finally swallowing, she pauses any further intake. “Do you still want to come over on Friday? For the— uh— makeup?” He nods with enthusiasm and she flashes that sunny smile. _Blind me_ , he thinks. _Who am I kiddin’? She already has._

“Yeah, ‘course I do.” In his pocket, his phone buzzes again. Huffing a sigh he pulls it out and opens the notification. His eyes widen as he reads.

> **_Mom_ **
> 
> _Uncle Luke is coming for dinner tomorrow._

Ben replaces his phone and places that to the back of his mind. He chooses, for the rest of their time together, to retain focus on her and only her. To analyze this feeling growing inside himself and let it fawn naturally, without intervention. And every time she smiles, he smiles too. _I could smile forever with her_ , he thinks. _But… what if this ain’t forever?_

It’s then and there— all pride and pretense thrown out the door— he makes the decision.

“I’ll go with you.” Rey lights up. 

  
“That’s the spirit.” _What have I done?_


	5. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Begrudgingly, Ben has dinner with his mom and uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter but I've been very caught up with school and just general stress. Hope this chapter satisfies!

Uncle Luke has an aura Ben never agreed with. The way he talks and the way he carries himself is just a little too pompous, bordering on pretentious. His self-confidence shines bright and Ben can’t see what makes him so prideful. Luke’s status as a professor is undisputed but nothing about him is particularly special beyond that. He is good at what he does and that is the just of it.

So, knowing his presence would surely come to haunt him, Ben makes the rest of his day rather easy. He finishes his assignments in class and skates by at lunch rather unfeathered. (Unfortunately for him, Rey does not share the same lunch as him on Thursdays.) Before he knows it, the school day is over and the bell has rings. His familiar footsteps lead him to the bus and to the same seat he always takes in the back.

Ben is texting her as she sits beside him. Rey’s makeup is much more dramatic than usual but in the way that keeps his eyes from ever straying from hers: thick eyeliner, shimmery highlighter, peachy blush, and a dusting of mermaid-colored glitter. They exchange greetings and a few light quips before Rey seems to pick up on something Ben is desperate to avoid talking about. She looks to the window he hasn’t even looked at once since getting on the bus.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Oh, I’m— um— my uncle is comin’ over for dinner.”

“Would I know him?” she asks. Her voice is small and hesitant, as if the question itself might be unpleasant. Ben swallows past the lump in his throat. _Maybe, the truth won’t hurt ‘er._

“He’s a philosophy professor at CU.” Rey stiffens her posture and quiets, smiling forcibly. _Fuck._

“I don’t remember meeting him,” she speaks. The light bounce to her voice is vacant; in its place is a shallow breathy cadence, just barely executing the formation of words without stuttering. Her accent twinges less noticeably. “But… I’m sure my grandfather has.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says softly. The forced smile fades into a neutral expression, dimples receding and lips parting.

“That’s alright. It isn’t your fault.”

“Ya wanna talk about it?” The glitter on her eyes sparkles with the passing sun. Even in her somberness, Ben can’t stop staring. He’s in awe of the way she just exists, without the need of relying on anyone other than herself. _She’s… beautiful._

“I will tell you… soon.” An echo of his own words thrown playfully back at his face. _I’ll take it_ , he thinks. _But, I wish… I could help ya._

“Mystery, it is.” Her neutrality fades and fawns into a little smile. Ben doesn’t have any words so he doesn’t say another word, comfortable in their crafted silence and shared space. It’s much warmer than a hug— much warmer than most gestures.

* * *

Ben is texting Rey in his room when the doorbell rings downstairs and his nerves reach a peak. _Fuck_ , he thinks. His thumb holds delete on the few words of an unfinished thought. _Please just be… normal._ It’s a strange request he puts on his uncle. He wouldn’t expect normalcy from anyone,— let alone himself— but he reasons this case has special circumstances. 

Luke is the type of person to impede on a civil discussion with an opinion no one wants to hear. He is the type to display his high-priced coat in the middle of their hard-fought rental and give them little reconciliation for the thrift store clothes on their backs. His mother never asked him for money when they needed it, but Luke— to Ben’s knowledge— made no offer to her. It was a strange fact given how known he was (and still is) for giving out cash to students in need. 

It infuriates him to know that Luke could have helped, but it’s to be expected. He still goes out on the weekends with Han and turns a blind eye to the reality he isn’t family anymore. _Please don’t ask about him_ , he thinks bitterly. _Talk all you want… just not about him._ The last time his uncle came over for dinner was a few months ago; the whole ordeal ended with Ben politely excusing himself and storming up to his room when he was out of sight. 

_“Han’s worried about you. He wants to know how you’re doing, Ben.”_

There’s another memory that haunts him, too.

Ben remembers a time, so brief and so minor, where his mother sat in the backyard. The smell of pot wafted in the midnight air, stars blinking above them hazily. Her face was still and her eyes were blank and glassy. A glass of white wine sat idly on the little glass table while the lawn chair creaked under her weight; she grimaced at the sound. He watched her with a somber acceptance, waiting for her to speak— to say anything.

_“Luke_ — _I know he means well, but sometimes your uncle doesn’t have a goddamn filter.”_

_“What’d he say?” Ben asked._

_“I shouldn’t tell ya,” she spoke._

_“Too late, I ain’t gonna stop askin’.”_

_“‘Ight… just promise not to tell ‘im I said this to ya, got it?”_

_“I promise, Mom.”_

_“Well, he said you reminded ‘im of Grandpa.”_

Ben remembers most vividly the way her face soured when she repeated it, the sentiment like poison on her tongue. His mom was strong and independent and fierce but in the face of their family, Leia’s resilience faltered. The stars reflected dimly in her eyes. With a shaky grip, she picked up the glass and raised it to her lips. His mother sipped a little more than she usually did and swallowed harshly. The quiet that followed was unbearable.

Even now, the memory of it makes him uneasy. The discomfort it brought Leia to compare him to Grandpa Ani… is something he hopes he’ll never have to experience again. In essence, that is the crux of all problems with Luke. He addresses what should stay quiet and flares the flames without even recognizing the tension in the room. By all means, Ben doesn’t think he is a bad person. He just can’t get over something that isn’t Ben’s fault.

He lifts himself from the bed, pockets his phone, and strolls out of his room. The carpet beneath his feet is cleaner, vacuumed in a frantic hurry by his mom just shy of an hour before Luke was due. Ben is slow to the stairs, hand dragging against the smooth wooden rail and feet sticking to the steps like molasses. Bells chime as the handle is turned and the door opens. He lingers just out of sight as his mother greets her brother.

“Luke,” she croaks through a smile. “It’s been too long.”

“You’re right. It has.” His voice is gravelly but loving— unmarked by the huskiness of nicotine or the twang of an accent. Luke speaks sparsely, as if holding his tongue until a grand moment comes. Ben peeps briefly behind the staircase wall. As always, his uncle is adorned in neutral colors. A beige cardigan hangs on his shoulders and relaxed jeans hide his stalky legs. Age lines run deep into his skin, prominently with his smile and under his eyes. Those same eyes pin Ben on the stairwell, staring blankly at him. _Fuck._

“Hello, Ben,” Luke says. It’s much less loving, in the way his posture stills and his expression twitches. Leia turns, shuffles away from him, and watches Ben emerge from the stairwell. He swallows roughly and coughs into his hand to clear his throat. 

“Hey,” Ben greets quietly. Luke nods in his direction. It’s an unsettling formal gesture but not unexpected from him. He treats Ben like this. _Why ya gotta be so awkward about it?_ A buzz in his pocket startles him a little, enough to end their locked gaze. Ben looks down at the notification briefly. _I’ll read it later, Rey. I promise._ Savory smells from the kitchen come to his attention next. His uncle sighs deeply, closing his eyes and inhaling. “Leia, by God, what have you made? It smells divine.”

“Some stewed chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus I picked a week back.” Ben’s stomach rumbles with the listing. He walks past Luke and his mother and enters the kitchen. True to her word, a crockpot sits cooking. He steps closer, inspecting the foggy lid. Another pot of potatoes is beside it on the stovetop— salted, peppered, buttered, and whipped. He’d rather just eat alone tonight,— _maybe, text Rey_ — but Leia would be disappointed in him and that’s far worse than any punishment he can think of. Behind him, she slaps his hand away from the pot.

“Hey!” Ben meets his mother’s stern gaze.

“Get,” she instructs. Rolling his eyes, he backs away from the stove. “Go set up the table, Ben.”

“Okay,” he mutters. He pulls open a drawer and plucks some silverware in sets of three. He carries the forks and butter knives in one hand and plucks some paper towels with the other. He sets the door, the distinct clang ringing out in his ears. Luke passes through the kitchen and towards the rounded table, an extra chair dragged from the basement to accommodate him. Ben follows him and places down the forks, knives, and makeshift napkins with a polite smile.

Luke eyes him silently as he takes his seat across the table. The rough drag of wood against wood accompanies it. Ben rakes his unsteady hand through his hair and prevents himself from sighing. There’s a period of grace where neither Luke nor Ben says a word. _Could be worse_ , he thinks. _He could be askin’ me questions._ In the kitchen, Leia plops out helpings onto a ceramic plate. In the very next moment, she calls out to them.

“I ain’t gettin’ it for ya. Help yourselves.” Luke huffs something brash under his breath and gets up. Ben waits for a minute— until his mother sits down with her own plate and side-eyes him— before standing up himself and pulling a plate from the cabinet. Luke is returning to the table by the time he makes his way to the asparagus and potatoes. From the table, his uncle and mother converse. Slowly but surely, he starts to place some of everything on his plate. The smell of the crockpot chicken alone is enough to make him salivate.

“So, how’s work?” Luke asks. Ben plucks some of the chicken from the crockpot and replaces the lid.

“It’s work... how’s teachin’?” Between bites, Luke chuckles. Slopping some mashed potatoes and asparagus on his plate, Ben makes his way back to the table.

“Good. My lectures are being listened to… I think so, anyway. It’s hard to know what they’re doing anymore.” Leia nods solemnly and turns briefly to Ben as he sets down his plate. 

“Get us some water, will ya?” He bites his lip and returns to the kitchen, a budding irritation working itself through the tightened grip on the cups and the noticeable snap-shut of the cabinet. If Leia or Luke notice, they pay no attention to him. He presses a glass to the fridge’s dispenser and watches the water fill the cup in a steady stream. “They’ll listen if they want to. Ya can’t convince ‘em to do somethin’ they ain’t gonna do anyway.” Luke hums gruffly.

“I suppose you’re right.” He thumbs away some potato from his beard as he shifts in his chair. Ben pulls the glass away and puts another one up to the dispenser. “What about you, Ben?” Jolting, some of the water from the cup spills over and wets his fingers. “How is school going for you?”

“It’s ‘ight,” he answers slowly. Ben makes a conscious effort to keep his tone neutral and not agitated. He places the cup on the counter behind him and fills up the third glass for himself. 

“He got a friend, finally.” _Oh, God…_ Ben sets the last glass on the counter and carries over the others to the table.

“Is that so?” Luke asks. His phone buzzes again in his pocket. _Ah, fuck me._

“Is that ‘er?” His mother’s expression is humorous, but Ben couldn't be further from humored. His face feels hot and his irritability is building by the minute. He can only hope that his mother recognizes it. He shrugs and goes back to the kitchen to retrieve his glass. 

“A girl?” The surprise doesn’t really define his uncle’s confusion. It’s mostly curiosity— _but,_ _I don’t want ‘im to be curious._ Luke’s expression doesn’t change by the time Ben finally sits down and scoots in his chair. 

“One of Maz’s new fosters,” explains Leia. “What’s ‘er name, Ben?” 

“Rey,” he answers. His phone buzzes again just before he can put some chicken in his mouth. Exasperated, Ben pulls out his phone briefly. He flips up the control panel and presses the little moon for “Do Not Disturb”. He pockets his phone quickly only to find Luke staring at him. _Stop it._ Ben chews his cheek and picks up his fork.

“Rey,” Luke repeats. He pauses, seemingly lost for words. Leia fills in the gap.

“Sheev’s grandkid.” Luke’s relaxed posture and presence shifts. _Rigid_ , Ben thinks. _He’s fuckin’ rigid._ The image of Rey from earlier pops into his mind and rocks his agitation. The fleeting moment he saw on the bus, _rigid_ at the thought of her grandfather, sours the taste of food on his tongue. It fuels the irritation of Luke’s general presence into something else entirely.

“Really?” Luke pokes his fork aimlessly on his plate. “I didn’t know he got arrested.” Leia raises an eyebrow. 

“Arrested?” His uncle merely nods. Ben tries to listen while eating. “For what?”

“What do you think, Leia?” Luke snaps. “What he’s always done. Just got caught for it… finally.” He recovers swiftly and pats her hand apologetically. “I’m— I’m sorry, Leia. That was uncalled for.” His eyes lift from hers to Ben’s. “Perhaps it’s not the best idea to befriend her, kid.” Ben bites down on his tongue, swirling potato around on his plate with his fork.

“And why’s that?” he asks. Luke swallows harshly, trying to move past the heaviness that has settled over the table.

“Your grandpa… I don’t want what happened to him to happen to you.” _Nah_ , he thinks furiously. _That ain’t a reason._

“Well… I’m goin’ to prom with ‘er.” Leia’s eyes widen; she gasps.

“Oh, Ben! Why didn’t ya tell me? When did ya ask ‘er?” His eyes remain locked with Luke’s. His expression is growing graver the longer he stares at Ben.

“She asked me.” Leia chews some chicken and hums.

“That’s so great— I thought ya would never go.”

“Leia, are you sure she’s not—”

“She’s what?” Ben demands. Luke narrows his eyes.

“Never mind it— doesn’t matter—” _Oh, ya ain’t gettin’ away from this._

“What? What were ya gonna say?”

“Son, calm down,” says Leia. 

“No, I wanna know what he was gonna say.”

“Ben,” Luke speaks. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to associate yourself with a girl directly related to someone who has done our family harm.” _That’s it._ Halfway through his plate, Ben drops his silverware and lets it clatter against the table. 

“Why is it when I have _one_ fuckin’ good thing, y’all try to ruin it for me?”

“Ben!” Leia scolds. He doesn’t hear her; he simply continues to glare at his uncle. Luke doesn’t say a word, stunned to silence.

“I don’t get why she has anythin’ to do with Grandpa at all. It’s not like any of ya would fuckin’ tell me.” His voice is ragged and raw. “I don’t even know a goddamn thing about ‘im...” The silence that follows is a bitter one. His mother and uncle are lost for words. They simply stare at Ben, speechless. He stands up from the table, chair legs screeching behind him. “I’m bringin’ ‘er to the prom and that’s that.” He promptly leaves in a blind rage, feet stomping through the kitchen and up the stairs. He doesn’t care to listen to their inevitable chatter about what just happened. _It don’t matter. I’m sick of this shit._

Once inside his room, Ben shuts the door and locks it behind him. He huffs out breaths, swearing profusely. Ben wants to punch a hole in the wall— wants to break something with his bare hands. He wants to do something to expel the anger raging inside his chest. It’s so powerful and controlling, he feels subservient to it. There are no words he can scream or bags he can hit that would truly satisfy it. 

He throws his body onto the bed and stares down the popcorn ceiling with murderous intent. Ben glares at the textured, blank canvas above and thinks of all the ways he could cover it. Anything to cover the blank, boring surroundings that leave his mind no excuse but to think of all the problems he’d rather avoid. As always, nothing comes to mind and the distraction does little to quell the anger brimming in his bones. _But, Rey…_ he thinks. _She would come up with somethin’._ With that in mind, Ben pulls out his phone and looks at his notifications.

> **_Rey_ **
> 
> _16 New Messages._

He grimaces and reads all of them.

> **_Rey_ **
> 
> _Tell me how it goes._
> 
> _Best of luck with your uncle._
> 
> _Fuck…_
> 
> _Please don’t tell me there’s more analysis homework._
> 
> _FUCK._
> 
> _I’m sorry for the spam but I can’t believe this asshole really gave us fifty assignments._
> 
> _This is it. I’ve snapped. I’ll kill him._
> 
> _I swear to god._
> 
> _YOU GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME._
> 
> _Okay, I think I’m good now._
> 
> _I’m so sorry for the spam._
> 
> _BUT THIS IS FUCKING EVIL._
> 
> _Wait._
> 
> _Never mind._
> 
> _Hey, I got a question for you actually._
> 
> _Can I come over to your place instead for the makeover tomorrow?_

The anger dissipates slowly as Ben starts to chuckle, the sound of which echoes against the blank white walls. A smile stretches his face against his own control, humming with the belly laughter. Layered with the fiery sunset peaking through his blinds, an orange glow hits his skin and soothes the icy tension of his muscles. Through the fast action of his fingers, he types out his response. 

> **_Ben_ **
> 
> _Yeah._
> 
> _It didn't go well._


	6. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day before the dance, Ben comes to a couple of realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for this being so late. Hope you can forgive me!

They spent the whole night texting about the fight. Ben still hasn’t fully recovered from the glare of his phone screen; eyes itchy and straining to remain open, he finds the process of completing homework during his lunch break even more frustrating than usual. Rey doesn’t have the same lunch on Thursdays either. Overall, the absence of coffee proves to be a drastic miscalculation and a persistent toll for the entirety of his morning classes. 

In their shared second hour, Rey and Ben chatted lightly over the topic of what happened last night, but he didn’t give her all the pieces to the puzzle; mentioning what Luke said and why it upset him would’ve backfired on her good mood (and quite honestly that was the last thing he wanted to do). So, he skated around it and blamed the fiasco on something else. _Rey didn’t need to know. It ain’t important._

She seemed to pick up on it but didn’t push it. They were both too busy noticing how Poe was acting. His normal talk-non-stop methods were replaced by a hoodie and a frown. Poe’s eyes avoided all contact with any of his companions and they seemed equally quiet and guarded in return. Neither Rey nor Ben could figure it out by the time the bell rang.

Ultimately, it leads to a confrontation— and, God, does he _hate_ confrontation.

Ben doesn’t exactly expect it because he’s not looking for it. Unassuming, sitting outside the library, he finishes some annotations for a poetry packet. His stomach rumbles and his pen stops against the grain of the paper when, in his peripheral vision, someone sits next to him. Immediately, Ben looks up at the movement and finds the person staring back at him is Finn. Of all his expectations— of which he had none— this certainly wasn’t on his list. He must be gawking in some way too because Finn immediately speaks.

“Hey,” he greets… cordially— civilly. _Chilling_ , Ben thinks. He doesn’t say a word back. Finn swallows harshly, clearly fumbling whatever words he had come up with before sitting down. Scratching a hand on the back of his neck, his expression sours and he laughs nervously. “I— um— I came here to say sorry… about everything.” _Oh… oh God no._ “I thought— I don’t know what I thought. I just kind of assumed you were someone you aren’t. That was stupid of me and I’m really sorry.” Ben’s brows knit together in confusion… and something else; something strange and inexplicable. _Relief?_

“How much did Rey pay ya for this?” Ben responds. Finn scoffs and crosses his arms, variety jacket bending awkwardly at his elbows with the fresh leather.

“No. I did this because it was the right thing to do.” Ben licks his teeth and chews his cheek. It’s a little incredulous to hear an apology from Finn considering their last interaction. _Or maybe… this is all because of what I said._ That thought quickly makes him even less comfortable in his presence. Ben’s shoulders tense and his teeth move from chewing cheek to tongue. “Look, I know I’ve been an asshole and… you know, I just want to try and make it up to you. You don’t seem like a bad guy. I just— I guess I was just looking for someone to be an asshole to other than myself.”

There’s a moment of silence between them that loses its tension. The weight of anxiety peels slightly at the corners and, while Ben’s head is still churning the words and the sentiment, he knows Finn isn’t a terrible person. In a way, he can intuitively understand the pattern of behavior as a result of something Finn didn’t want to confront: himself. Ben can understand that— painfully so. After all, he hates confrontation. _Fuck._

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends or even talk to me— that’s totally fine. I just thought it needed to be said. If you’ll let me... I can get you and Rey into prom—”

“Actually,” Ben cuts. “She does wanna go.” Finn smiles.

“Rey said as much at dinner. I assume she asked you.”

“Not really my scene.” Finn nods casually. 

“Not mine either, but Poe really wanted— _wants_ — to go.”

“Saw ‘im second hour, all mopey.”

“Yeah… that’s probably my fault,” Finn relents. He closes his eyes and sighs quietly. “I should go and fix it… see you around?” Ben nods, meeting his eye for the first time since he arrived. Finn offers him a small smile in return. Then, he walks away, and Ben doesn’t quite know what to do or what he was doing in the first place. 

* * *

Rey arrives on the bus with a strut to her step and a smile across her face, showcasing dimples and her sunshiny mood. The bus ride is short and spent mostly picking the places they want to go. Ben follows her lead on this one, only adding suggestions here and there concerning pricing. When they depart the bus and find the keys under the doormat, Rey seems even more cheery than usual.

“What gotcha in such a good mood?” She smiles and jams the key into the ignition. 

“Thinking about what I’m going to do to you.” Ben rolls his eyes as the car starts and she begins to pull out of the driveway. Rey chuckles a little, reaching forward to play something on the radio. She flips through many stations, settling with something easy on the ears. The melody is breezy and relaxing— enough to ignore the nasty heat sticking his skin to the leather seat interior. _Crap_ , he thinks. _Just like Rey._ “What are you thinking about?”

“Dreadin’ how much it’s gonna sting getting up.” She bursts at the seams with laughter, stopping a little too abruptly at the stoplight. Her skin, tanned and acclimated to the summer, has an almost rosy quality to it. Despite the toll the weather has taken on both of them, Rey seems to sport it with pride. A few strands of hair stick to the back of her neck and her clothes hang a little tighter, but all of these make Ben feel something. 

(It feels new; nothing like he’s ever felt before. Loud and large and intimidating and so many, many _things_. He isn’t sure what he wants to call it or if he can call it what he thinks it is— and fuck if it would mean a thing from someone who has never felt this way before. He’s waiting on the right words and the right moment to tell them to her. Whatever it is— _I like her a lot, but that sounds so fuckin’ stupid_ — and whenever it happens, he’ll know it’s the right moment. He has to know. Until then, he’ll just have to wait.)

“Ben, we’re here.”

A flurry of clothes is snatched from hangers and Ben is shoved into dressing rooms; the result is the discovery of an almost-matching pinstripe blazer and pants. Rey seems satisfied so Ben is too. Along with the pants and blazer she picks out a plain dress shirt, red bow tie, and shoes. She chooses a pair of sunglasses for herself before they check out and leave with the clothes in plastic bags. The sun glimmers and burns bright against his face as Ben places the bags in the backseat. Rey watches him briefly.

Her eyes catch with the glow of the light reflecting off the Pontiac Grand Dam. Ben isn’t staring exactly because he isn’t looking at her directly. In his peripheral vision, as he shuts the car door, he meets Rey’s gaze. There’s something flickering across her face. _She looks… shocked?_ Whatever troubles her seems to embarrass her too, judging by the flushed state of her face. Ben knows this look. He’s seen it on the faces of many girls before at school. 

Yet, unusually, he doesn’t mind it on her. Ben doesn’t mind Rey staring at him— ogling him. If anything, it feels good and that’s _scary_ — terrifying, honestly. He expected to feel this way eventually about someone, but he didn’t expect it now and especially not with someone like Rey. She’s so bright and happy and— and he’s none of those things. She could have pretty much anyone in the world with a snap of her fingers and yet, here she is, in the parking lot of Goodwill about to drive him home and paint his face with makeup.

He smiles wordlessly and she smiles back.

* * *

“Oh my fucking god.” Ben expected just as much on this front. Rey surveys his room with a frown and the frown lingers long after she eyes every inch she can of his bland, blank room. “It’s just as I feared.” He laughs, the sound of which strangely jarring in the familiar echo of his room. It’s a little hard for him to believe someone other than himself is in his room. He can’t remember the last time he invited anyone over. _Too long_ , he thinks somberly. 

“Yeah, I know— I know it’s bad,” he relents. “But, I dunno what to fuckin’ do about it.” Rey audibly sighs and rolls her eyes into the back of her head. 

“You cannot be serious— there’s literally _nothing_ here!”

“I know! It’s borin’… even for me.” Rey places a hand on her chin and stares at the empty walls thoughtfully. Ben sits on the bed and drops the plastic bags full of clothes on the floor. He watches as Rey removes her hand and puts it on her hip. She hums then turns to him with an aggressively dejected expression. He yields, holding up his hands in defeat. “I got nothin’.”

“Clearly…” she remarks cooly. He smirks and leans back on the bed. After a few seconds, she huffs and gives up, exiting his room to retrieve her makeup bag from the car. In the time she’s gone, Ben peers out his window. Oddly, he feels a sense of deja vu. Ben is reminded of the time— not too long ago— that he stared at her from his driveway and watched her disappear behind the garage door. He wouldn’t call it nostalgia exactly, (it hasn’t been long enough for that) but he would call it _warm_. A fond memory— fonder than he’s had in a long time.

And every new memory with Rey seems to be like that: warm.

By the time she comes back, Ben is still lost in thought, staring out the window. They laugh it off quite quickly as Rey starts in on her task. Her brushes dip and dive into numerous colors and her highlighters and eyeliners lay neatly against his comforter. She doesn’t speak much, seemingly too engaged in her craft to say a word. _An artist…_ Memories come back to him of her doodles in class. _She could be an artist._ Abruptly, Rey takes his chin into her hand and straightens his neck. The action is as surprising as it is bemusing.

“Ben, stay still!” Rey’s irritation entertains him considering he hasn’t moved much in the entirety of her time spent applying product on his face. While he can feel the presence of makeup against his skin, he has no clue how it all fits together. Considering her daily looks for school, he expects nothing less than greatness. _How she good at everythin’?_ It intrigues him to no end to see what the final look will be. Strictly speaking, Ben has never found himself _that_ good looking— despite what many have whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear. _Maybe, she’ll change my mind._

“Are you almost done?” Asking this question, he risks Rey’s scorn. Instead, she simply hums in place of affirmation, and Ben is left unscathed. There’s a tackiness around his eyes, distinctly foreign to his skin. He isn’t breaking out though which was something he feared. Instead, he feels sort of _light_. There is no breeze because his windows are shut and the fan is off but somehow, despite it, the weather feels just fine. The humidity piercing his skin doesn’t feel nearly as invasive. _Should it?_ he wonders privately. 

“Done.” Rey holds up a hand mirror and Ben opens his eyes. Various shades of reds blend together against his lids and fade before reaching his brows. Smudged black liner defines his eyes and… underneath his waterlines is shimmery glitter, reflecting an arrangement of contrasting colors. Somehow, it feels fitting and pleasant against his face; it feels like an extension of himself, an extra piece to a puzzle he never noticed was missing. _This is…_ “Awesome?” Ben smiles, an airiness in his chest.

“Awesome’s a lame ass word for it,” he starts. A little flicker of worry spreads across her features. Ben is quick to relieve it. “It’s _amazin’_ , Rey. I love it.” The warmth of her toothy smile urges butterflies to flutter in his stomach. She glows in the dimming sunlight and Ben— well. He can’t stop himself from staring. The world doesn’t make a noise as she giggles at his gawking nor does it utter a word when Ben finally looks away from Rey. He doesn’t quite catch his breath when he laughs, but she continues to laugh with him.

“What?” Ben avoids her eyes.

“It’s nothin’…“ Rey bites her bottom lip, smile fading.

“I— um— I didn’t do that much, you know.” Her fingers reach forward to push back a strand of hair hanging loosely in front of his eyes. They graze against his skin. His heart hammers in his chest and his throat restricts him from speaking— from breathing. Ben has never experienced this before. All he knows is he’s okay with it— _more_ than okay, even. _I… like this._ Rey’s fingers pull away; her expression is torn between concern and confusion. After a few moments of shared silence, she forces a smile. “You’re already gorgeous.” Ben scoffs amusedly. He opens his mouth to speak, but Rey beats him to it. “No, don’t talk. I already know what you’re going to say, it isn’t true, and you won’t change my mind.” His smile dissipates as the sun disappears behind the clouds. 

“Alright, Rey,” he says softly. “You win.”


End file.
